


Birthright

by HikariHellspawn



Category: Magic: The Gathering
Genre: But I do at least mention canon so it counts I guess?, Fanwalkers, Gen, all of them - Freeform, fanplane, fanwalker alert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-05-02 11:58:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 69,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14544252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HikariHellspawn/pseuds/HikariHellspawn
Summary: Battlemage. Artificer. Planeswalker. Maera has been to many planes and been in more scrapes than she can count in the few years since her Spark's ignition, and the hothead has no intentions to stop now. When she went barreling into Amonkhet with a few friends, a sword, and a staff from an ancestor (and some colorful language), she'd been planning on giving a certain dragon a Ravnica-sized wedgie he wouldn't be able to work out for a decade. Very quickly, however, things went sideways and she discovered just how much about being a Planeswalker she had to learn.Now she's been stranded on Etrides, a space-age plane that ordinarily she'd be geeking out over. But having been flung here bloodied, disoriented, and having no idea where her fellow Planeswalkers are--or even if they're still alive--she's got more on her mind than figuring out how to pilot a racing shuttle.This is one problem she won't be able to blast out of her way.....





	1. Defeat

**Author's Note:**

> This. Would not shut up till I effing wrote it. Unlike my other works, I actually have this sucker almost completely written--two chapters are all I have left before I'll have EVERYTHING written. 
> 
> That being said, it is going to be over twenty chapters. 
> 
> Also, while this is Magic fanfic, it takes place entirely on a fanplane of mine, and is centered around some of my (and one of GamerDragon13's) fanwalkers. So there isn't going to be any actual apperances of canonical Magic characters, but there will be references to them and events that Maera's had the dubious pleasure of participating in. And minor traumas she may or may not have caused them. Just putting that out there now >>;.
> 
> Oh, right, and warning: Maera swears. A lot, actually--she doesn't really have much in the way of a language filter. So if you don't want to read a fic with profanity...turn away now. This way you have no excuse to complain if you do and decide you don't like someone dropping the f-bomb a few times ^^.
> 
> I do not own Magic: The Gathering or anything else created by Wizards of the Coast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This. Would not shut up till I effing wrote it. Unlike my other works, I actually have this sucker almost completely written--two chapters are all I have left before I'll have EVERYTHING written.
> 
> That being said, it is going to be over twenty chapters.
> 
> Also, while this is Magic fanfic, it takes place entirely on a fanplane of mine, and is centered around some of my (and one of GamerDragon13's) fanwalkers. So there isn't going to be any actual apperances of canonical Magic characters, but there will be references to them and events that Maera's had the dubious pleasure of participating in. And minor traumas she may or may not have caused them. Just putting that out there now >>;.
> 
> Oh, right, and warning: Maera swears. A lot, actually--she doesn't really have much in the way of a language filter. So if you don't want to read a fic with profanity...turn away now. This way you have no excuse to complain if you do and decide you don't like someone dropping the f-bomb a few times ^^.
> 
> I do not own Magic: The Gathering or anything else created by Wizards of the Coast.

**Chapter One**

**Defeat**

_**SLAM!** _

_She—or I—hits the wall. People stare. Too many people, too many thoughts, can't think..._

_Stumble. Crash. Blood._

_Damn. Her blood. No, wait—_ _my_   _blood._

_Memories, too fresh; a dragon, her friends being played with like prey. Her own spells turned against her. The pain of drawing too much mana...far too much...more than she can handle._

_The blood. It's all over her side. Her front. Her arms._

_No. Arm. Where's my other arm?!_

_I lean up against the all. She's bleeding bad. Her glasses are badly cracked, I can't see out of them._

_Hurts._

_Stumble, catch myself, keep going. Have to get back—_

_Hands. Strong hands. Worried face—words. Asking something?_

_She tries speaking. Tastes blood. Have to leave, have to find help...friends dying..._

_Collapse. No, don't fall unconscious, no, don't—_

_**-XXX-** _

**Maera's**  eyes snapped open.

_I'm not on Amonkhet._

If she was, she'd eat her shoe.

Groggy, she reached around for her glasses. Clumsily, since for some dumb reason her right arm was numb...  _The eff did that 'walk do?_

After some fumbling, she found the glasses and put them on one-handed. Then, rather than trying to sit up, assessed her condition.

And screamed.

" _What the fuck happened to my arm!?"_

Running footsteps came down the hall. The half-faerie was staring down at her right side, in horror.

Her arm. Her right arm was  _completely_ gone. Where it should've connected to her shoulder, there was...nothing.

Someone was speaking next to her. The words sounded muddled.

She passed out. Again.

_**-XXX-** _

**The**  second time she came to, someone was sitting beside her.

Maera groaned. And squinted; her glasses were off again.

"How are you feeling?"

She looked to the voice. The speaker was blue—which meant he could be one of a number of races. The half-faerie paused before replying.

"Like shit. You seen my glasses?"

He handed her them off a nearby table. With a grunt of thanks, Maera slipped them on with her left hand, glad that at least  _part_  of her wasn't ripped to hell.

The man sitting in the chair next to her bed was vedalken. Typical of the species, he was tall and slim—if they were both standing, Maera suspected he'd be able to use her head as an elbow rest.  _Dammit genetics, why couldn't I have gotten the height genes?_

The vedalken had his black-and-acid-green hair pulled back in a braided, the sides of his head were shaved. He was wearing a dark blue or black leather jacket, cargo pants, combat boots, and a pair of fingerless biker gloves. One of his eyebrows was pierced, and around one eye socket he had a tattoo of a broken semicircle that was just a few shades darker than his skin.

He was...different.

Sure, his appearance wasn't exactly what she was used to expecting of vedalken on other planes, but that wasn't what stood out to her. It was his eyes.

There was a light in them that Maera was all too familiar with. And endlessness that went deeper than most beings' souls.

_Planeswalker._

"So—" She coughed, her voice hoarse. After a pause, she tried again. "So...what plane is this?"

The man frowned. "What?"

Maera pinned him with as withering a stare as she could—which, given the fact that she was lying in a bed and probably looked more like a warmed-over corpse than a human, wasn't very. "You know what I'm talking about."

"No, I don't."

Maera just stared at him for several long moments. Finally, she said one word.

"Planeswalker."

The man blinked, looking like she'd just slapped him across the face. "How did—? Who—? How do you know?"

Maera pointed at her face with her remaining hand. "Your eyes I can see it in your eyes." She croaked. "You can probably tell it in me, too. You've got a Spark."

The man studied her for several long moments, then nodded. "You're being surprisingly trusting."

Maera shrugged. Then hissed. "  _Scheiß._ "

He reached out a long-fingered hand and put it on her shoulder. "Be careful. You just lost an arm."

Maera gave him a deadpan look. "No, really? I couldn't tell." She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. "Yeah. It's a long story."

"I'll bet."

She snorted. "I'm being more trusting than usual right now for a couple reasons." She said as the vedalken sat back in his chair. "One of them is that I'm currently tired to the point that I'm pretty much stoned."

"And the other?"

Maera eyed him. "Where- or whatever this place is, I'm guessing it's yours." The man nodded. "So it's a safe bet you're the one who brought me here."

"You planeswalked into the middle of a busy thoroughfare, covered in blood, and wearing clothes that don't belong on this world outside of holodramas." He replied. "Chances are people either thought there was some kind of hallucinogen in the air scrubbers, or that you were escaped from a mental institution."

Maera grunted. "And you felt the 'walk from a mile away."

"More or less."

She grunted again.  _Goddamn it, everything hurts._  Granted, despite the fact that she felt like she'd been shoved in a barrel and tossed down a river, she didn't hurt as much as she thought she should have.  _He must have some damn good painkillers running through me right now._

Of course, that didn't stop her body bitching.

The man shifted. "In answer to what plan you're on, Etrides." A beat. "You can call me Grimoire."

Maera looked to him and shot him a tired smirk. "Some name. Your mother give you that, or is your real name just that shitty?"

'Grimoire' frowned. "I beg your pardon?"

Maera snorted a laugh. And regretted it because of the stab it sent through her chest. "Sorry. I just handle stress and pain by upping my asshole level." She took a breath, hissing as the stump of her shoulder throbbed. "Usually doesn't help the pain part...but it's a great outlet."

The vedalken deflated, rolling his eyes. "I'll keep that in mind, the next time I find you wandering around covered in blood." He paused. "By the way, what the hell did you  _do_  to fuck yourself up  _this_ bad?" Maera was rubbing her eyes, glasses pushed up out of the way, when she abruptly stopped and stared at him. Her companion gave her a baffled look. "What?"

Maera blinked a few times before replying. "Well...I've met a few vedalken before, and they had a bit better of a language filter than mine. Frustration or not."

Again the eye roll. Grimoire crossed his arms. "And you're surprised...why, exactly?"

Maera shrugged, once again regretting it as the wave of pain returned.  _Dammit._ "Just...surprised, I guess. And stoned on painkillers." She grunted. "If this is a preview of your personality, I think we'll get along swimmingly."

The other 'walker let out a long-suffering sigh.  _Heh._  "I'm not sure if I should feel comforted by that..."

A snort. "Bro, if you'd seen some of the assholes I hang around with, you'd be running for the hills." A pang hit her in the gut. "...'course, chances are you  _won't_  be seeing them at all..." she muttered, softly.

He cocked his head. "I'm sorry?"

Maera shook her head, admonishing herself.  _Don't think like that, moron. For all you know, the others could've ended up on Etrides too. Just not the same place you landed._  "S'nothing. Bunch of friends and I...we sort of bit off more than we could chew." She pointed to where her right arm was supposed to be. "Sorta what led to  _this."_

Grimoire gave a nod. "Right...anyway, you should probably rest." He said. "I don't know how much blood you've lost, but it looked like a lot and I'm not sure if I've got enough artificial blood on hand to make up for the difference. At least, until your body can replenish what you've lost."

Maera grunted. "I feel like an anemic."

"No offense, but you  _look_ like one." A pause. "For that matter, you look more like a corpse than anything." He stood. "I'm going to see if I can scrounge up some supplies from some...ehh, people I know.  _You_  get sleep. It'll take a while to recover from whatever flung you here, modern medicine or no."

Maera nodded, indeed feeling tired as hell. She didn't bother questioning who these 'people he knew' were; there'd be time for that later.

He left the room. Maera was back to sleep in minutes.

_**-XXX-** _

**Much**  to her companion's dismay, Maera was out of bed the next day.

"You should still be resting."

Maera grunted. She pointed to the mass of regen patches and bandages wrapped over the stump of her shoulder. "These seem to be doing their job." One handed, she attempted to pull her hair back into a ponytail. "And I'll keep the IV with me...goddamn it, fucking hair..."

"Here," Grimoire sighed. "Give me the tie." She did so, and he started pulling the mass of chestnut hair back. "...you realize you have enough hair to knit a scarf from?"

Maera snorted. "I like my long hair."

The other 'walker grunted. "There. That should hold."

"Thanks." Maera checked that the needle to the IV ( _Eugh, needles.._ ) was till in her left hand before standing, using the IV as much for balance as to keep it from rolling away and ripping the needle out of her hand. Immediately, she felt woozy and stumbled.

"Watch it!" Blue, six-fingered hands caught her shoulders, keeping her upright. " _Now_  you know why I said to  _rest._  Your body's still barely started healing."

Maera scowled at him. She didn't like admitting it ( _Thank you Mom for letting me be a stubborn ass growing up,_ ) but he wasn't wrong. Even just  _trying_  to stand had her head spinning, stomach doing backflips, and she was shivering and felt cold and hot at the same time.  _It's like I have the flu, only I'm not sick._  "I can walk."

"Right into the floor."

"It's either that or pee into a bedpan, and I frankly enjoy the ability to use the bathroom on my own thanks."

Grimoire rolled his eyes to the overhead and let out an exasperated breath, but still kept hold of Maera's shoulders. "At least let me take some of your weight. I know from experience that IV stands don't make for very good crutches."

Maera grumbled something unfriendly, but still accepted the vedalken's support. She looked around. "Nice ship. Get it the same place you get your clothes?" Grimoire raised an eyebrow, and Maera let out a sigh. "Seriously, I'm just curious. This thing seems kind of...big for just one person. Must've been a bitch to pay for on your own."

Grimoire made a sound in his throat. "I...didn't. Not directly, anyway." He replied.

"Okhay...then where  _did_  it come from?"

" _I came from Trikelius Prime Transportation Systems, thank you very much!"_

Maera jumped with a yelp, almost toppling herself and Grim over. She hissed as the IV needle was yanked out of her hand. "Son of a bitch...the hell was that?!"

" _Well. You weren't joking when you said she wasn't from around here, Grim. I've never seen_ _that_   _reaction to a talking ship before."_

Maera blinked, then pointed to the ceiling and gave Grimoire a deadpan look. "Who the hell's that?"

Grimoire pinched the bridge of his nose. "Maera, meet  _Sleipnir._ " He sighed. " _Sleipnir,_ this is Maera. Try not to get into a smartassing contest."

" _No guarantees. I do love to annoy people."_

Again the vedalken groaned. "Shut up." he turned back to Maera. "You don't have AIs on your plane?"

Maera was trying to get the IV back into her arm. "Well, yeah, but...they're not exactly  _sentient_. Not yet, anyway." She swore around the needle in her teeth. "Damn it...stupid needle."

"Here. Let me." Grimoire eased the needle out of the hand Maera had transferred it to and carefully got it back into place, making sure it was stuck back down on her hand. "What kind of plane  _are_  you from?"

" _Hopefully one where there's computers. I_ _really_   _don't want to have to explain how the 'net works."_

Maera flipped off the ceiling. "I call it Terrestiel." She replied. "I'm not sure if that's the actual name or not; never managed to figure it out."

"I've never heard of a plane without a name before."

Maera shrugged, then winced as her shoulder stung in protest. "Meh. Neither have I, but it won't be the first time something weird happens in the Multiverse. The whole place is one giant pile of strange."

" _Reminds me of someone else."_

"Shut up,  _Sleipnir._ "

" _Well? You_ _do_   _remember that time when-"_

" _Sleipnir_ _."_

" _All right, shutting up."_

Maera snorted a laugh. "At least you never get bored."

Grimoire rolled his eyes. "You have no idea."

Again she laughed. "Anyway, Terrestiel is...pretty unremarkable." She said as they entered the cockpit. She slumped down into the nearest seat. "It's the size of a whole universe, but so far we only of one planet that evolved sentient life. Or, life in general, for that matter."

Grimoire tapped something into a wall panel. "There's got to be more than that."

"There is. Or I hope so, anyway." She sat back, sighing. "And on that one planet we know has life, only about half the population believes in and can use magic." She shrugged with her good shoulder. "Over seven billion people on a planet, and half the population doesn't even know that the other half isn't even human. Kind of funny, when you think about it."

"Or depressing."

"Aren't you a ray of sunshine," Maera snorted. "Anyway...we're nowhere near the tech level here." She pushed her glasses up her nose. "Personal computers and stupid 'smart' phones, yeah, but we're still using freaking  _jet fuel_  for space flight."

Grimoire paused in what he was doing. He blinked at her. " _What."_

"Yeah." Again Maera did the half-shrug. "Which is probably why the farthest we've gone from our planet is the moon." She peered up at the ceiling. "So yes, I know what a computer is."

" _You poor things. Grim, please tell me we can help? It sounds like her plane needs help."_

" _No."_  Grimoire pulled a pair of mugs out the wall alcove and came over to the half-faerie. "I didn't know what you wanted, so I just got coffee."

"Thank the Eternities," Maera grabbed the mug out of his hand and inhaled the steam. It smelled like haven. "The last plan I was on had no freaking idea what coffee was. Or tea. I wanted to scream. How can a  _city_  run without  _something_  caffeinated?"

"Where  _were_  you, anyway?" Grimoire asked as he took a seat in one of the pilot's chairs.

Maera held up a finger as she took a swig of the brown miracle water. "After you tell me how you got  _this_  smartass." She knocked the bulkhead with a foot.

" _I have a name!"_

"Yes, and you're still irritating."

" _My name is Sleipnir! Grim!"_

"Inheritance." Grimoire replied, ignoring the AI's protest. "My parents were...ahh,  _traders_  would be the best way to put it.  _Sleipnir's_  an old sloop that was built before the aether break."

Maera stopped midway through taking a drink of her coffee. "I'm sorry, the what?"

Grim frowned. "What's wrong?"

Maera shook her head. "It's just...I've only been to one—well, a couple other planes that have aether." She sighed. She hmmed into her mug. "I wonder if if they're..."

"I didn't think there  _were_  other planes that had aether streams." Grimoire said, fingering the handle of his mug. "How'd—"

" _Grim, we have company."_

"Well, we  _did_ come here for fuel."

" _That's not the company I meant, Grim. I mean the kind of company you, well..."_

Maera looked to Grimoire, and her eyes widened in surprise as she say his face go ashen. He set his half-full mug of coffee to one side, the beverage forgotten as his hands flew across the console screen. " _Sleipnir_ , can you go to FTL?"

" _If you're asking if my tanks are full, yes. If you're asking if it's a good idea to do a cold jump into the nearest aether highway, then no it's not a good idea."_

"I'm not asking for a cold jump. Just if you've got enough antimatter to get us out of here."

" _Then yes. Granted, we won't be able to stay at FTL for very long before dropping back to sublight."_

"Then it's a good thing we're not going very far..." The shock on the vedalken's face was gone, his focus shifted to whatever...people he was trying to avoid. "Get ready to undock. Unless they're managed to figure out that I'm  _not_  just another tourist, shouldn't take too long..."

" _I've already asked for permission. So far, no red flags yet."_

Grimoire grunted "Good." Something dinged on his console, and he glanced at it before a slight nod. "Permission's been granted. Let's move,  _Sleipnir._ "

" _On it. You have a course?"_

"Laying it in now."

Maera was listening to the exchanged, watching Grim's hands as they flew over the console. "I'm going to hazard a guess that these guys are  _not_  friends of yours."

"Not exactly, no." He didn't look to her, his eyes scanning something on a readout. "Old associates. Ones I'd rather avoid."

"You get in a bad business deal or something?"

"You could say that." Maera felt the floor thrumming as the ship shifted into motion. "Looks like they haven't recognized us as of yet."

" _Good. I don't want holes in my hull."_

"Being the one who needs to breathe, I'm inclined to agree with you." An alert beeped in the corner of the viewscreen.

" _Incoming transmission."_

"Thank you," Grimoire's tone was deadpan. He tapped a code into the control screen in front of him. "Patch it through. I've got the video scrambled."

" _Good."_

The alert went way and a woman's face appeared on the viewscreen. Maera scooted her seat back, hoping to get out of range of the camera on their end.

Grimoire turned to look at her. He shook his head. "It's fine," he whispered, barely loud enough for her to hear. "Far as she knows, this thing's a tourist yacht with a busted camera. I've got an illusion cast over the hull, and I doctored the manifests."

Maera raised an eyebrow, but said nothing as he turned back to the screen. He cleared his throat before speaking, his accent changing to something...stuffy. "Ah, sorry about that. My video's on the fry on my end, so sorry."

" _You're not funny, Grimoire."_  The woman replied, voice cool. " _I recognize your casting."_

The vedalken froze. "Damn..."

Maera leaned forward in her seat. "You know her?" She whispered.

Grimoire nodded. The woman on the screen smiled, the expression chilly. " _You haven't introduced me to your friend."_  Maera stiffened. " _Yes, I can see the both of you perfectly fine. Grimoire's datamancy would work well enough against an average inspection, but, well..."_  she shrugged. " _We're not so average."_

"What do you want?" From where Maera was sitting, she could see the vedalken 'walker's hands were clenched into white-knuckled fists. Her eyes narrowed; whatever bad blood was between them, it went deep.

" _We sensed a rather large—and rather_ _sharp_ — _aether burst"_ The chilly smile disappeared, and she eyed the pair of Planeswalkers through the video feed. " _Neither of you would have anything to do with that, now would you?"_

"Don't know what you're talking about."

" _Don't lie to me, Grimoire. You know what happens when you do. You were with us for long enough for us to figure out the signature of your 'planeswalking', and we picked up one such signature at that station. Which one of you caused it?"_

A cold tingle ran down Maera's spine.  _These guys know about Planeswalkers? How?!_

"Then you need to get your instruments checked. I haven't done any planeswalking in weeks." Grimoire's hands were spidering over the controls of the console in front of him. "Now, can you  _please_  move so I can get to FTL safely? I've seen what happens when ships get caught in the wake of an FTL jump."

The woman hummed. " _you know I can't do that. Whether that was caused by you or not, we've still got reasons to bring you back with us."_  She replied. Her gaze shifted from the vedalken in front of her to Maera. " _Young woman...you wouldn't happen to be missing an arm, would you?"_

Maera sat up straight. Grimoire glanced to her out of the corner of his eye. " _I checked the station master's records to see if there was anything strange happening about the same time we detected the planeswalking signature. And sure enough, there were recordings of a woman in strange clothes stumbling out of nowhere, covered in blood and missing an arm."_  Her eyes flicked back to Grimoire. " _Coincidentally,_ _you_   _were seen supporting that same woman back to your ship."_

A muscle worked in Maera's jaw. "What makes you so damn sure?"

The blonde woman's eyes narrowed. " _If we could pick it up, then I can guarantee that others with our capabilities can as well."_ She replied icily. " _I can already name one such group, with far less noble intentions."_

Grimoire snorted. "I wouldn't call your intentions 'noble' if you puked rainbows and glitter."

" _Charming. But you have to admit, we're far better than the alternative."_

The vedalken's eyes narrowed. "Better doesn't mean right. It's why I fucked off."

" _You can't leave the Inquisitorium. Not without dying first."_  The woman responded. " _Please don't make be do this the hard way, Grimoire. The paperwork'll be a pain in the ass if I blow you up by accident."_

"I feel so bad for you." His voice was deadpan. "Seriously. I don't care how much you hate the paperwork I'm not going back. And I'm not handing anyone over to you, either; I don't work for you bastards anymore."

The woman sighed. " _The hard way it is, then. I wish you didn't do this, Grimoire."_

The video feed was cut, and twin lines of fire traced their way across the space towards the ship. Grimoire set his jaw and slammed a command on his control screen, and a silver shield went up over the outside of the ship—just in time to catch the phase fire slamming into it, sending silver shimmers along its surface. Maera grabbed the sides of her seat as the ship rocked, but nothing seemed to be broken "I'm going to assume they're the ones you had the past with."

"Yes. And I'd rather not go into it."

"I can tell."

The vedalken's hands were flying over the controls. " _Sleipnir,_  take over navigation. You know what to do."

" _Yes. Avoid getting shot."_

Grim's mouth went into a thin line. "One smartass is enough, smartass."

" _All right."_  Another hit landed, this time causing a shake from the rear. " _Oh, you have_ _got_   _to be kidding me!"_

"They trying to shoot our asses off?" Maera leaned forward, peering over Grimoire's shoulder at how he was handling the controls.

The vedalken shook his head. "The Inquisitorium may think they know everything, but they at least have a sense of honor—such as it is. Iron-fisted they may be, they won't shoot you in the-" Another blow rocked them, this time from the side. "Damn it.  _Sleipnir_ , who's shooting at us now?"

" _Uhh..."_

Grimoire's brow knitted as he frowned. " _Sleipnir._  Answer the question Who is it?"

" _You sure you don't want it to be a surprise?"_

Yet another blow sent silver spidering across the shields " _Sleipnir!"_

" _All right! We've got a group of Bleeders coming up our tail. They seem pretty focused on us for some reason"_

"Why?"

" _How would I know?! You're the techno mage! If I could've hacked them I would have!"_

Grimoire growled and grit his teeth. "I'm a bit busy here,  _Sleipnir."_

" _Yes, I can see that."_  Another hit, this time from the Inquisitorium ship in front of them. " _I hate to say this Grim, but I don't think I can handle all the navigation while we're being shot at by two groups of crazy people."_

The frown on the vedalken's face deepened. "I'll handle keeping out of the way of the Bleeders if you can keep us out of the Inquisitorium fire."

" _Got it. What about weapons? Or are we going to run around and pray we don't get blasted?"_

Again Maera saw the muscle twitching in the vedalken's jaw. "I'd rather not space anyone if I can avoid it."

" _Personally, I'd rather not get blown up either. And if my database is correct, that wouldn't be too good for you two either."_

Grimoire growled in the back of his throat. "I know." He snarled something as the shield was hit bad enough to actually  _tilt_  the ship to one side, and Maera swore as she was slammed back against her seat. "Damn it! How close is the nearest aether highway?!"

" _Close, but we'll need to get far enough from this firefight first. And then keep them off our tail long enough to get to jump speed."_

Grimoire was tapping at his controls, pointing the ship towards the twisting line highlighted on the map. "We'll need to shoot as we run."

" _Think you can handle that_ _and_   _part of the nav?"_

The shields ripped back from in front of the viewscreen before sliding back into place, and the edges of the screen flashed red. Grimoire grumbled something "Not really." He turned back to Maera. "You're a mage, right?"

Maera raised her eyebrows. "No, I'm a plumber."

"Sarcasm not appreciated."

Maera grunted. "I'm a battlemage who dabbles in artifice."

Grimoire gave a nod to the empty seat next to him. "Usually if I end up in a firefight, I let  _Sleipnir_  take over the navigation while I deal with the issue. But with two sides firing at us—"

Maera was already sliding into the spot, pulling the IV out of her hand as she went "Just show me how to fire the thing."

"It's magitech," He quickly pointed to a gauntlet-looking thing to Maera's left side. "It draws aether from space and basically turns the phase cannon into a giant aether gun. That's the control for it."

A grin was spreading over Maera's face as she strapped into the seat. "Nifty. That a normal thing here?"

"Yes. You said you were a battlemage? How good is your aim?"

"I one time got a spitball stuck to Tezzeret's nose at 400 meters."

"Good. Pick any of the assholes shooting at us and fire."

Maera slid her hand into the gauntlet-control and grinned. "Gladly."  _Now, how do I turn this thing on?_

Either the thing was automatic or it read her thoughts ( _Hell no thank you,_  she thought), because it whirred to life and adjusted to fit her hand snugly, but not uncomfortably. A line of lights flashed along the side, before all turning green and a targeting overlay lit up her side of the screen "I just draw mana like usual?"

"Yes."

"Got it." Maera picked out one of the attackers—the nice, sleek, slimline fighter was hard to miss, and the shininess of it reminded her of one of the pretentious rich assholes back home. She raised her hand to it, pointing with her finger, feeling a smug sense of satisfaction at the thought of messing up some douchebag's paint job.  _Eat fire, bastards._

Maera swore as the ship jerked to the side, throwing her crosshairs wide. "Oi!"

"It was either that or have a firebolt up our exhaust, and I'd rather not be the won blowing up. Aim again!"

Grumbling under her breath, Maera picked out another one of the shiny and sleek fighters. A shit-eating grin creeped over her face as the crosshairs turned red. "Eat my aether, bitch!" She pulled the 'trigger' of her finger gun...

...and nothing happened.

An error message flashed over the screen Maera felt a buzzing in the gauntlet-hing, and the lights on the side were flashing red. She blinked.  _But...no way. I_ _swear_   _I was drawing mana. I could_ _feel_   _myself drawing mana...!_

Grimoire glanced to the flashing error message and cursed. "Of all the times for... _Sleipnir!_  We're going FTL!"

" _What?!_   _We're not up to speed! What happened to not making a cold jump?!"_

"Change of plans! It's either that or getting a hold blown through the engines, and frankly—" Another hit to the shield jarred the craft, and the vedalken cursed again. "I'm rather  _against_ turning into a fireball!"

" _So am I, but a cold jump will do that as well as one of their cannons."_

"Just do it. It's better to live to sort out your FTL drive than end up a debris field." He tapped something quick into his console. "Course change. That's where we're going."

" _You'd better be sure about this. It's going to be bumpy."_

"I am." He looked to Maera. "Hang on. He's not joking."

Maera had the edge of her console in a white-knuckled death grip. "Will I need a barf bag?"

The constant thrum in the floor was rising in pitch. "Probably." Grimoire replied, hanging onto his arm rests. "Just try to ignore it until the worst of it evens out."

Maera nodded, jaw shut tight.  _I'm guessing that now would be a_ _very_   _bad time to point to him that I've never been at warp before._

She clamped her mouth shut as the screen whited out from the FTL jump.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not even a week off Amonkhet and already in trouble...great going Maera, your luck apparently blows today ^^.
> 
> One last quick note on timeline things: Birthright takes place RIGHT after the Hour of Devestation, and overlaps almost entirely with Ixalan. So while Maera is hanging out and recovering from her lost arm, Jace is currently running around on Useless Island and wonder who tf he is.
> 
> Anyway. Now y'all know when the events of this fic fall in the Magic timeline. Yay, I think?
> 
> To quote a favorite fanfic author of mine; reviews desired, but not required. Feels nice to read 'em though ^^


	2. Shattered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maera gets an unwelcome surprise. And later, a concussion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First thanks go to ShadowKnight for the kudos ^^.

**Chapter Two**

**Shattered**

* * *

**Maera** was still staring at her hand when Grimoire finally allowed himself to relax. He looked over to her. “Something wrong?”

Maera just shook her head. “I...I don't know.” She said, still staring at the hand. “When I tried to draw aether through the control, it...didn't work. I felt like I was drawing mana, but when I went to use it there wasn't anything there....”

Grimoire tched. “It's probably malfunctioning. I haven't had to blast at anything faster than asteroids in a while. Going to have to get it checked out while I'm getting the FTL drive sorted out. Again.”

Again Maera shook her head. “N...no, I don't think it's that.” She swallowed.

Her companion frowned. “What makes you say that?”

She shrugged, ignoring the now-familiar twinge of protest from her injured shoulder. “I...I don't know. I doubt it's a handedness thing—spellcasting's about the only thing I'm ambidextrous with.” She paused. “At least, always have been, anyway.”

“Maybe it's the shock from losing an arm?”

Again, shrug. “I don't know. And I don't like that I don't know. Not knowing what's causing a problem tends to piss me off.”

“I haven't known you for long, but seems like a _lot_ of things piss you off.”

Maera grunted. “You're not wrong.” She turned her left hand over, flexing her fingers, and reaching out with her senses. Sure enough, she felt the pulsing of the mana around them, the ship riding the current and allowing itself to be pulled along in the strange magic-induced FTL stream.

Closing her eyes, she sat back, feeling the current around her. She reached to the familiar sensation, drawing on the magic and drawing it into her....

“ _AIIECH!!”_

Maera toppled off the chair, holding her arm to her chest. She took several deep breaths, cold sweat trickling down her face. _That...that was not normal._

Grimoire was next to her in a second. “What the hells was _that?_ ”

Maera shook her head, confused. “Don't know.” She muttered, pulling her hand away from her chest and examining the damage. She grimaced. “Fuuuck....”

Grimoire took her hand in his and ran a gentle finger over the burns, eliciting a hiss of pain from Maera. “I've never seen _this_ happen from a magelight.”

“It's not supposed to,” Maera hissed. “Shit...what happened on Amonkhet must've fucked with my ability to draw mana.”

“I'm assuming that's why you 'walked here?”

Maera nodded. “Trust me, it wasn't intentional.”

“Considering the condition you were in, I believe it.” He stood, holding out a hand to help her up. “What _did_ happen, anyway?”

“A load of bad decisions and very bad planning,” Maera replied as she accepted the hand. She stood, only to almost fall over again as dizziness set in and her head spun. “What the fu...?”

Again, Grimoire caught her before her face met the deck. “Adrenaline wearing off.” He said. “Let's get you some rest.”

Maera glared at him. “I'm fine.”

“You almost passed out.”

“I'm. _Fine._ ”

“Then explain why you're white as a sheet.”

Maera rolled her eyes. “If I can stand on my own, will you believe me _then_?”

Grimoire raised a pierced eyebrow. “You're swaying.”

“No I'm not.”

“You are literally swaying like a drunk person. You look like you're about to fall over.”

“No I won't.”

“Right. I find that hard to believe coming from someone who looks like a corpse.”

Maera did the first mature thing that came to mind; she stuck her tongue out at him. “I'm all right. See?”

She turned around, took a few steps....

...and fell ass-first into the nearest seat. She held her head. “Okay. Maybe not. Unless the room is _supposed_ to keep spinning.”

“It isn't.” Grimoire once again helped her up. “You. Rest. Now.”

This time, Maera didn't protest. “All right, fine. Whatever gets me off the tilt-a-whirl.”

_**-XXX-** _

**Zachar** slid into the seat in his kitchenette and let his head fall to the tabletop. And banged said head against said tabletop a couple times.

“ _I sense a headache coming on.”_

“You don't even _have_ a head.”

“ _I meant in you.”_

Zachar sighed and rolled his eyes before sitting back upright. “ _Sleipnir_...why do I do stupid things like this?”

“ _Because despite all odds, you're somehow still a decent person.”_

The vedalken Planeswalker snorted. “Clearly you haven't known me long enough.”

“ _I've known you since you were_ born, Grim. If that's not long enough, I don't know what is.”

Another snort. _How'd I end up with the ship with the smartass AI?_ He ran a hand through his hair. “She still hasn't recovered from...whatever the hell happened before she 'walked here.”

“ _My assumption would be something_ bad. Most people don't actively try to lose limbs, after all.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

“ _I try.”_ A pause. _“Will you tell her?”_

Zachar paused and eyed the ceiling as he pulled the half-dismantled magitech gauntlet on the table towards him. “Tell her what?”

“ _Your 'relationship' with the Inquisitorium. It seems only fair if you ask me.”_

Zachar frowned and picked up a screwdriver. “It's not her fight.”

“ _Not yet. Sounds like your old bosses are hells-bent on making it her fight, though.”_

“They can eat antimatter.”

_Sleipnir_ barked a laugh. _“You'll have to tell her, eventually. You always have to.”_

“No, I don't. She's a Planeswalker, like me, and the Inquisitorium are a planesbound problem. _My_ planesbound problem. The rest of the Multiverse doesn't need it.”

If he didn't know any better, Zachar would've sworn the AI sighed. _“They know about Planeswalkers, Zach, or did you forget? They know you're one; they've known almost from the moment your Spark ignited. They sent you on the riskiest jobs knowing that you had an out that nobody else did.”_

Zachar's grip on the screwdriver tightened as he continued dismantling the gauntlet. “Which is one of the many reasons I left.”

“ _I still don't see why you didn't just leave Etrides entirely. It's not like anyone would've been able to track you through the Multiverse, just that you'd left.”_

“I can't leave. You know that.”

Again the sigh. _“You're stubborn, you know that?”_ If _Sleipnir_ had been a flesh-and-blood person rather than a ship's AI, Zachar had no doubt he'd be shaking his head. _“Okay, fine. Don't tell her about your connection to the Inquisitorium. At least tell her about the Bleeders.”_

Zachar groaned and banged his head against the table again. _“Why._ They're as planesbound as the Inquisitorium.”

“ _Yes, but they're not as nice. The Inquisitorium just wants to have their hands on every bit of Etrides' workings. The Bleeders just want to destroy everything because of that ridiculous prophecy of theirs.”_

The vedalken groaned again and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I know. They're a band of loonies run by an even bigger loon, which is why most sane people don't pay attention to them. The only reason _I_ do is because their crazy cult got _started_ by a Planeswalker.”

“ _A cuckoo one.”_

Zachar didn't argue. “How long until Sontra?”

“ _A couple days, at this speed.” Sleipnir_ paused. _“Zachar...do you think they're going to try and fulfill that insane prophecy of theirs?”_

Zachar shrugged, going back to taking apart the gauntlet. “Probably. Nir was right about one thing, though. The Bleeders might be crazy, but they aren't stupid; they likely picked up on that incoming planes walk.”

“ _Well, it's not like our friend was particularly_ quiet about it.”

Zachar grunted. “Hopefully once she's recovered, she'll be able to 'walk back off-plane and back to wherever she came from.”

“ _I'm surprised you're not more excited about this.”_

“What do you mean?”

“ _She's a_ Planeswalker. Like you. Aren't you always the one saying that you Planeswalkers are 'one in a billion' and how uncommon your type are and all that? I'd think you'd be jumping at the chance to hang around with another one.”

Again he grunted. “If it was any other plane, then probably yes.” He replied. “As it is, there's too many factions running with too many short fuses, and more than a few of them would jump at the chance to have someone like her or me on their side.”

“ _Just like the Inquisitorium did.”_ Again, the AI's voice seemed to have a sigh in it.

“Exactly. Which is why I've been keeping well out of theirs and the Bleeders' way.”

“ _Which once again brings me back to_ why you haven't left already.”

“Which brings _me_ back to the reason you full well know about.”

“ _You're more stubborn than an asteroid colony, you know that?”_

“I'll take that as a compliment.”

_Sleipnir_ snorted. _“It wasn't meant to be.”_ A pause. _“Zachar...you have noticed the aether instability, right?”_

Zachar nodded. “Yes. I don't like it.”

“ _Good. I'm not the only one, then. Good to know that I'm not going insane.”_

“Unless we're both going crazy.” Zachar frowned at a particularly stubborn screw. “But I've heard enough stories from smugglers about getting shunted out of FTL with no warning. I don't' like it.”

_Sleipnir_ hmmed. _“The aether highways are breaking down.”_

Zachar grunted in assent.

“ _It's not natural, is it?”_

Zachar grunted again. “It doesn't feel like it, no.” He replied. “It feels like something is trying to pull the plane's mana _to_ a central point, and it's affecting the aether highways.”

“ _And despite all all your protests to the contrary, you've been investigating it.”_

“Why shouldn't I? Etrides is my home, _Sleipnir_. Believe it or not, I'd rather it not get blown up. Or whatever else is going to happen.”

“ _I still say you should read her in. who knows, she might even be able to crack whatever part of this puzzle that's stymieing you. What's that saying again? Something about two heads being better than one?”_

Zachar was silent for several long moments, as he carefully dismantled the gauntlet and laid its parts out on the table in front of him. “I said it before; this isn't her problem.”

“ _It's going to be, if the Bleeders are involved. They may not know the term 'Planeswalker', but they certainly know about people who 'go beyond reality'. And you know how crazy zealots can be.”_

Zachar's mouth tightened. _Don't I know it._ He thought.

_**-XXX-** _

**Maera** spent the following days trying to figure out what the _hell_ was wrong with her ability to access her mana bonds.

It resulted in many a spell misfire.

“There was _got_ to be an easier way of figuring out what's wrong.”

Grimoire peered at her form where he was—yet again—bandaging one of her many burns. “Maybe the first step should be seeing a doctor, rather than frying your own fingers off.”

Maera shot him a half-pout, half-glare. “You seem pretty damned competent when it comes to first aid.”

“I've had to patch myself up a few times.”

_Sleipnir_ snorted. _“I don't consider your fully-stocked medical pay something that handles 'a few times'. I'd say it's more like 'resetting a bone every other week'.”_

Grimoire threw a sealed syringe at the nearest wall panel. “Shut up.”

“ _It's true.”_

“I still say shut up.”

Maera looked at the spot the syringe had it with eyebrows raised. “Well. You two _sure_ you're not married?”

Grimoire paused. “I'm sorry?”

Maera shrugged. “You two argue like an old married couple. For Pete's sake, if I didn't know any better I'd say you two had a thing for each other.”

The vedalken spluttered, while the AI laughed. _“Oh, that's good! Grim, I think I like this one. Can we keep her? Please?”_

Grimoire grumbled something under his breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. “One these days I'm going to figure out a way to add a mute function to your programming.” He groused. He returned to Maera's latest burn, and angry red one running along the inside of her forearm. “What, exactly, were you doing this time?”

Maera looked away, wishing she had a free arm she could rub the back of her neck with right about then. Her ears burned. “Well...um....”

She could _feel_ Grimoire's eyebrow raise. “Well?”

“I was...well...you're gonna think I'm an idiot.”

She heard a quiet exhalation. “What did you do?”

“...I was drying to tie my shoes.”

“...what?”

Maera shot a glare at the man. “I was trying to tie my goddamn shoes.” She jerked her chin to the stump where her right arm had once connected to her shoulder. “I'm fucking right-handed. I can't do much with only one hand, let alone my left. So I...was trying to cast an unseen servant spell to tie my shoes.”

Silence reigned in the medbay for several long moments, as the heat in Maera's ears moved into her cheeks and down her neck. Finally, Grimoire let out a tired breath and shook his head. “You could have just asked for help.”

Maera felt her face redden even more. “I _don't_ need help tying my own damn shoes.”

Grimoire pinched the bridge of his nose. “Powers you're stubborn,” he grumbled. “What's your size?”

She blinked. “My what?”

“Your shoe size. I can lend you a pair of boots I'm not using, ones that don't have laces.”

“Uh, tens...” Maera eyed him skeptically. “You're...lending me...a pair of your smelly old boots?”

“They're not smelly.” Grimoire scowled at her.

“They will be when I'm done with them.”

Again, the vedalken shook his head and sighed. He finished up taking care of Maera's latest wound (with a few colorful protests from the Planeswalker) before leaving the medbay. “Don't go anywhere.”

Maera blinked at him, slowly. “Oh, no. I can't go out and get any fresh air.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

Grimoire gave her a deadpan stare. “You know what I mean. Be right back.” He disappeared, his footsteps receding back in the ship. They returned quickly, and he reentered the room with a pair of beaten-up, dusty, black leather boots. “These should fit.”

Maera eyed him. “Why?”

Grimoire raised an eyebrow at her. “Why what?”

“Why are you lending me a pair of shoes?”

“You almost barbecued your arm trying to tie yours.”

“Not what I meant,” Maera sighed, starting to cross her arms. Then let her arm fall awkwardly to her lap when she remembered she was now missing one. “What I meant was, why are you doing this? You've known me for less than two days—”

“ _Three. You were out cold for about thirty-six hours after Grim brought you here.”_

“Okay, less than a week. And already you seem to be going out of your way to help me. Why?”

Grimoire stared at her a moment before putting the boots down beside her and pulling up a chair. He turned it around and straddled it, folding his arms over the seat back. “The easy answer? You look like crap. It was only logical that I get you off a main thoroughfare and away from a large group of people before someone started yelling about a blood-covered, one-armed maniac running about.”

Maera grunted. “There's more than just logic to it though, right?”

A muscle worked in Grimoire's jaw as he considered his answer, and his grip shifted on the back of his chair. “...You could say that.”

“Then what?”

Another pause. “We...people like us, Planeswalkers, we're...rare.”

“No, I never noticed.”

A soft snort. “Most people in the Multiverse never leave their home planes. And very few of them know about the Blind Eternities.” He shrugged. “And even if they did know, there's not many who'd be willing to accept the fact that their universe is just one of thousands or tens of thousands out there.”

“Let's just go with an infinite number, corny as it sounds.”

Grimoire nodded. “If you went up to the average person on the street and told them you could travel to other universes, they'd look at you and ask what mental hospital you escaped from.” he said, quietly. “And in my experience, it's kind of hard to bump into other Planeswalkers on the street. I don't know about you, but I don't make a habit of broadcasting my existence.”

Maera hummed. “Makes sense. Most of us don't, really.” She said, pulling up a knee and resting her arm on it. “Mostly because not all of us are friendly.”

Grimoire snorted. “Don't I know it.”

Maera cocked her head. “Had some personal experience, have you?”

Grimoire shrugged and opened his mouth to reply, when the lights flashed red and a klaxon blared. _“HANG ON TO SOMETHING!”_

Maera grabbed onto her seat as best she could with one hand. The floor started to shake. Badly. “What's happening?!”

Grimoire shook his head. _“Sleipnir_ , what is it?”

“ _They aether highway's breaking down. We're being shunted out!”_

Maera looked to the vedalken with wide eyes. “Is that normal?”

He shook his head. “No.” His head whipped around as something screeched overhead. He glanced up, went ashen, and shot towards her. _“Get down!”_

He slammed into Maera, sending them both to the ground as one of the light panels crashed down from the ceiling. He screamed something, but the words were lost as an earsplitting shriek of rending metal from outside tore at her ears.

She looked to where she'd last heard Grimoire when something slammed into the side of her head, and everything disappeared.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I like cliffhangers. Well, as long as I'm the one writing them, anyway ^^. With any luck, I'll be able to keep the streak of consistent updating going. Till then, feel free to leave kudos and comments if you liked ^^.


	3. Stranded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maera shows off her legendary skills of annoying the bad guys, and we meet a fashion-challenged pirate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick thanks for everyone who's read and left kudos since the last update ^^. 
> 
> The usual disclaimer; I don't own Magic: The Gathering, canonical planeswakers, and planes, locations, characters, etc...All that belongs to Wizards of the Coast. Same with Star Trek belonging to Paramount. I'm just writing this for fun, and the only reason there's a Trek reference is because Maera is a giant freaking nerd.

**Chapter Three**

**Stranded**

* * *

 

 **When**  Maera came to, the smell of fried electronics, burnt metal and hair assailed her nostrils. She gagged at the stink cocktail; oh, yeah. Add blood to the mix, too.  _The fuck...?_

She looked around, wincing. Her head was pounding from the blow it had taken, and looking around she saw a hunk of bloody metal from the bulkhead lying on the ground. Feeling where she'd been hit, she hissed again and pulled her hand away, with blood on her fingers. Another wince.  _I hope there's not a concussion._

Klaxons were still blaring, the red flashing lights accompanying the emergency lighting.  _Whatever happened must've thrown out main power,_  she thought, scanning the room. In any case, it didn't look like she'd been unconscious for long.

 _Didn't the ship say we were getting thrown out of the aether highway?_ Maera pressed her hand to her head, trying to compress the throbbing away. It seemed to be working, as it was going from a steady pound to a dull ache. Her glasses were cracked—again—no doubt from getting slammed to the floor and getting smacked in the head by a hunk of metal—

 _Wait._  The floor.  _Someone_  had shoved her to the floor. Maera pushed herself up onto her side, taking in the medbay again.  _Where's...?_

She spotted him lying underneath the light panel that had fallen from the ceiling. Like her, Grimoire had a gash on his head, and one of his legs looked like it was pinned awkwardly under the fallen panel. Her hand went to her mouth.  _Blood...ech...whyyy..._

The vedalken stirred, groaning. Maera deflated, relieved a the sign of life. She scooted herself closer. "Don't move much, your leg looks fucked up."

Grimoire shifted anyway, and hissed. "'Fucked up' isn't the word." He replied, voice tight. "Help me get this off." He nodded to the panel.

Maera scooted over, then wormed her arm underneath the light panel and shoved, Grimoire helping as much as he could with his uninjured leg. Once it was off, the vedalken laid back, breathing heavily and face ashen—though that could as much be from the bad lighting as it was the leg wound. Eyes closed, he pointed a long finger to the bulkhead next to where they'd been sitting a few minutes before. "Medkit. Wall. Should be able to—" he hissed in pain as he tried sitting up, the movement jostling the broken leg (Maera's stomach churned just  _looking_  at it). "Should be...should be able to fix up something."

Maera nodded, more than happy to have an excuse to look somewhere else. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep bile from rising; seeing her own blood she could handle. It was just  _other people's_  blood that made her woozy. She grabbed the medkit and slid it over to Grimoire, who returned a pained nod in thanks. Buzzing static came from the ship intercom. "Is he supposed to be doing that?"

"No." The vedalken's reply was muffled from the bandages in his mouth. "He probably got scrambled when we were thrown out of the current...come over here, I'm going to need some help setting the leg."

Maera felt the blood drain from her face. "What."

Grimoire grimaced, pushing himself into a sitting position. He hissed something that sounded like an oath under his breath. "Get my leg set." He ground out. "Hold it in place while I get a splint on it."

Maera felt her stomach churning and her face turning green. "Uhh, I'm not the best person for that."

Grimoire gave her a pained scowl. "Don't tell me; you don't know the first thing about first aid?"

"Oh, no. I know  _plenty_  about first-aid. I'm just a  _lot_  better at dealing with my  _own_  injuries than with others'. It's through sheer force of will that I haven't thrown up right now."

The vedalken 'walker wiped a hand down his face, groaning. "Fantastic." He went still, tilting his head towards the door. Maera was about to speak when he held up a finger for silence.

Maera closed her mouth, listening. Down the hall she heard voices, too far away to hear clearly, talking about something. Pressing her mouth into a thin line, she scooted back over to where Grimoire was on the floor, silently glad at the moment that she was barefoot.

Grimoire put a finger to his lips, then typed something on his gauntlet. He turned his arm so she could see.  _Pirates. Probably waiting for this. Cover me while I get Sleipnir back online._

Maera nodded, then paused. She pointed to the screen on the gauntlet, raising her eyebrows in a silent  _May I?_

The man nodded, and Maera typed her reply:  _Get your leg set first. Just in case of firefight. Or running. Also infection._

Grim's mouth went into a thin line, glancing at the door as the voices got closer.  _Fast._  He replied.  _Getting close._  A pause.  _Try not to puke._

Maera breathed a snort and pulled the medkit closer. Grimoire repositioned himself, stretching his broken leg out with a pained hissing noise. Maera popped open the kit, and stopped. Sure, there were things she recognized, such as bandages and painkiller pills, but some of the other items in it...baffled her. "Uh..."

"What?"

Maera blinked. Then looked at Grim and shrugged. Grimoire in turn pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned softly. "Oh, no..."

"I'm sorry!"

"Never mind. Just the splint. Worry about the rest later." He nodded to the leg. "Have you set a bone before?"

"Once. With help. My friend Darren was running from Lise after dropping a spider on her, and his foot got caught in a rabbit hole. I barfed on Niko's shoes."

"Comforting."

"I told you; medical stuff is  _not_  my strong suit."

Grimoire grunted and held up a hand for silence. No sound, but that didn't mean the pirates were out of earshot. For all they knew, they could be right next to the door, just waiting for them to leave. He nodded, shifted his leg, grimaced, and gave Maera a nod. "Do it."

The half-fae nodded, and put a hand on one side of the break and a knee on the other. Grimoire hissed, but motioned for her to keep going as he bit down on the sleeve of his jacket—hard. Gritting her own teeth, Maera pulled—slowly, getting the break back into place.

Grimoire screwed his eyes shut and screamed into his sleeve, banging his head against the wall he was sitting against. Maera licked her lips and then bit her tongue as she finished setting and splinting the leg, using what looked like a pair of splints and compression wraps she found in the kit. When she was done, Grim pointed a shaking finger to the kit. "Pain...killers...should be...codeine...in there. Labeled C. Blue syringe."

Maera fished around, picking out a blue hypospray (well, she labeled it a hypospray anyway—blame her fascination with  _Star Trek_ ) and held it up. Grim nodded and motioned for it. She handed it over, and he pressed it to his thigh and depressed a button on the side of the thing, sagging as the painkiller entered his system. After a few moments and deep breaths, he opened his eyes. "Help me up." He whispered, holding out a hand.

Maera stood and took it, pulling the man to his feet. He hissed in pain and grimaced, and almost fell over. She started to ease him towards one of the seats, but he shook his head and leaned against the wall, taking as much of his weight as possible off of the splinted limb. "I'll be fine," he muttered. He nodded to another spot on the wall where the medkit had been. "Spare blaster. Get it."

Maera raised an eyebrow. "You keep a blaster in the medbay?"

"I keep at least one in  _every_  compartment. Emergencies."

"The hell do you  _do_  for a living?!"

"Tell you later. Get the blaster. Cover me." He paused, listening for the pirates' voices again. Still silence, and something in Maera's gut told that was  _not_  a good thing. "The faster the better."

Maera nodded once and went to the wall, having to fidget with the panel in question before being able to get it open one-handed. She jumped as it clattered to the floor, and Grimoire shot her a nasty glare from where he was rewiring the wall computer console. Maera gave him a sheepish shrug before grabbing the blaster and positioning herself next to the door.

Thankfully—or not, depending on how smart the pirates were and how optimistic you wanted to be—Maera had a straight view down the corridor, even if there was smoke in the air from the damage the sudden drop from FTL caused. She kept her breathing as quiet as possible and flipped on the power for the blaster, hoping that the little green indicator light meant that it was on stun rather than kill. She peered around the doorway, not for the first time grateful that she had somewhat better night vision than the average human—myopia notwithstanding.

_If only my range of hearing was a little above average too._

Regardless, she could still make out the silhouettes of three pirates, picking their way through the dim emergency lighting. From the looks of it, they were looking for something. Or someone...  _Her eyes narrowed. Were they waiting for us to randomly fall out of FTL, or did they do something to_ _force_   _us out of the current?_

Her grip on the blaster tightened. She glanced over to Grimoire, who was both using the wall as a prop to stay upright as well as try to rewire the fried circuitry from the medbay. He was frowning, the crease between his eyebrows betraying his frustration. He looked up and shrugged, before going back to the task.

Maera took another look outside, gauging how far the pirates were. They'd stopped, and looked to be talking amongst themselves. Deciding to take advantage of the dim light and possible distraction, she quickly crossed over to where Grimoire was attempting to repair the damage to the computer. "Getting anywhere?"

Grim shook his head. "Getting shunted out of the aether highway did a number on our systems." He whispered. "Half the circuits in the panel here are fried. I can't bypass them enough to be able to talk to  _Sleipnir._ "

"You think that means  _Sleipnir_  can't do a whole lot either?"

He grunted softly. "Likely. If the circuits are too fried, no matter how pissed  _Sleipnir_  gets he won't be able to do much of anything. Unless he wants to blow out even more and fry his core.

"Which would be bad."

"Exactly."

Maera grunted and peeked out the door again. "How long d'you think it'll take you to get to wherever  _Sleipnir_ 's central core is?"

"Longer than I'd like. It's down on the lower deck in engineering. The only other places where I'd have a better chance of proper rewiring are in my quarters or the cockpit."

"Aka, the other end of the ship."

"Exactly."

Maera hummed. "Do you think we'd be able to make it if I gave you cover?"

Grim gave her a droll look. "Under normal circumstances? Yes. Right now? Unlikely."

Maera nodded slowly, eyes narrowing as she thought. "...do you have a headset? One that  _isn't_  connected to intraship comms?"

Grimoire peered at her. "Yes...what are you thinking?"

"I go up front, you stay here." She nodded to the panel. "You give me directions how to do the rewiring from here."

"You won't be able to hold the blaster and do the wiring at the same time."

"True. But would you be as likely to make it to the bridge without passing out, even  _with_  me shooting at the pirates?"

A muscle worked in Grimoire's jaw. "No." He eyed her. "Are you sure?"

"Mostly. Kind of." She shrugged. "We don't have a lot of other options. Run like hell or bust."

Grim snorted. "Get going, then." He turned back to the panel. "I'll see what I can do here till I hear from you on the bridge. There should be a headset hooked underneath the nav controls."

Maera nodded and gave him a salute with the blaster. "Good luck."

"Same to you. Now go."

Maera slunk out of the medbay, sticking around the walls and sliding her feet along the floor to both minimize noise  _and_  keep from stepping on anything potentially harmful to bare feet.  _If Bels were here, she'd be chewing me out for being an idiot and running around a damaged ship with no shoes on._  She thought, a smirk twisting the corner of her mouth.  _If I manage to get out of this new mess, I'm going to drag her here so I can have a_ _proper_   _geek-out._

 _No, wait._ _When_ _._ _When_   _I get myself out of this new mess I'm going to drag Belinda here and be a geek._

Slowly, silently, Maera skirted the edges away from the pirates, keeping to the areas not lit by emergency lighting as she made her way to the bridge. It wasn't far, but it still felt like it was taking an eternity. She looked around, ensuring that there weren't any of the pirates nearby before checking the cockpit. It was empty.

Once in, Maera let herself breathe a sigh of relief.  _And Jace and Bels say I'm no good at stealth._  She thought with satisfaction, stowing the blaster in her belt and striding to the nav controls. She fished around underneath, finding the headset Grim had mentioned. She gave it a quick once-over to find the on button before slipping it over her ear and activating it.

A soft beep went off in her ear as a holographic screen overlaid her vision. "Whoa! What the—"

" _Shush!"_  Grimoire hissed on his end. " _Did you find the HUD?"_

"Uh, yeah." She blinked, and it turned off. "Ah, crud, I think I killed it, hang on..."

" _Blink twice."_

"Thanks..." she did so, and sure enough the HUD returned. "Okay. That's figured out. What—" she stopped as she heard voices outside.

" _Maera?"_

"Shh." She tilted her head towards the door, listening. She'd heard someone talking outside, and she was 99% sure it wasn't her companion...

Deciding to play it safe, she ducked under the console, putting the chair between herself and the door. The HUD from the earpiece flashed, marking that there was  _someone_  out there, but not how many or their species.  _Probably because it's not currently connected to the main computer._  Maera thought as the man spoke again, closer to the door this time.

"...sure she's here?"

" _Yes_. The Progenitor foretold that his Messiah would arrive, and gave us the means to know when they would be here. She is  _here_ , I can feel it."

Maera reached around and gripped the blaster tight in her hand, though not drawing it from where it was shoved through her belt.  _This Progenitor of theirs sounds like a know-it-all. I already don't like them._  She thought.

"Trust in my judgment, friend; I know the Messiah is here. We will find her, even if we have to strip this ship to its scaffold to do so."

"What about her champion?"

"He is not the Messiah, and therefore not our concern. Focus on finding our Messiah now, worry about the spare later."

By now her grip on the blaster was so tight Maera swore her knuckles were white.  _Spare? Excuse me?! I might not've known the guy for more than a week but bitch, if you try pulling some dumb shit—_

" _Maera, what was that?"_

Maera waited until the voices had shifted away before replying quietly. "Pretty sure I almost got caught." She whispered. Once she was certain they were back out of ear- and eyeshot, she popped back out from her hiding spot and into the navigator's seat. "What do I do?"

" _All right...it'll be easier if I can see this."_

"You're in the medbay, remember?"

" _Yes, but there should be a way to link our two headsets so I see what you see. You see the B in the side menu?"_

"The B?"

" _Do you see it?"_

To be honest, Maera didn't see  _any_  side menu. She glanced to both sides, seeing nothing. "Which side is it on?"

" _Right. Hover your eyes over there for a second and it should pop up."_

She did so, frowning. It popped up.  _Finally._  "Got it. I see the B."

" _Good. Hover your eyes over it for a second and blink twice. It'll activate, and you'll see a green border flash around your HUD for a second. That's the broadcast function turning on. After that, I'll be able to see what you're on your end via_ _my_   _headset; I've got them set up on a linked system."_

 _Just like high-tech walkie-talkies._  Maera thought, following the instructions. "Got it?"

" _Yes. Okay, I'm going to try and step you through rewiring the main comms up there, so you'll have to get on the floor and start rooting around under the consoles. Hopefully things aren't too fried and we'll be able to make all the connections we need to there, rather than you getting down to engineering."_

Maera slid off her chair and squirmed underneath the console, trying not to jostle her vision too much for the sake of Grim. "I'm pretty sure the lower deck is where those pirates are running about right now. It was way too easy sneaking past them."

She heard Grim make a sound on his end. " _Somehow, I'm not comforted by that."_ He deadpanned. " _Okay, pry open that panel in front of you. You should be able to use your fingernails, but it'll take a bit and it'll probably drop on your face since you're working one-handed."_

Maera rolled her eyes. "Gee, thanks for the warning." She grumbled. "You realize I kind of have to leave the glasses on so I can see straight, right?"

" _It's not_ _that_   _heavy. Your glasses should be fine if the panel hits them. Besides, they're already cracked from earlier."_

Again she rolled her eyes. "And people say  _I've_  got a bad bedside manner."

" _I'm sorry?"_

"Never mind." She knitted her brows as she worked the panel in question loose, but eventually it came free. "What next?"

" _Start disconnecting anything you see that's been fried. Then I'll try and have you bypass all the fried parts."_

"Right..." Maera muttered, starting on disconnecting the fried wires. She hissed and swore as one of them sparked. "Ouch! Motherfucker!"

" _Remind me never to have you repair an impulse drive."_

"Shaddup." She sucked on the finger she'd burned. "Why the hell would we get shoved out of the aether current? Is that common?"

" _No. In fact, it's not supposed to happen at all; until recently they've been stable."_  Grimoire replied. " _It's only been in the last few years that there's been ships shunted out of aether highways, either because they destabilize or disappear altogether."_

Maera paused, frowning. "Aether disappearing? That...doesn't seem possible. Aether is another form of mana, and mana just doesn't  _stop_  existing for no reason."

" _No it doesn't, but that's what looks like is happening._ _Something's_   _mucking with the mana of Etrides. Okay, looks like you've got all the fried stuff out. Time to start rerouting power."_

"Where do I start?"

" _You see the clearish-green wires that're still kind of glowing?"_

"Yeah."

" _Start with those. They've still got power, so you should be able to use those to power Sleipnir's intraship comms. Try working those loose and start—"_

Maera frowned as he cut off. "Grim? What's wrong?"

" _...I thought I heard something."_  He let out a breath. " _Anyway, start moving those to—"_

She swore as a line of blaster fire screeched into the cockpit. " _Show yourself!"_

" _Maera, what's happening?!"_

Maera scooted out from under the console as another line of fire hit it. "Assholes are happening!" She snapped, drawing her blaster and moving along the wall towards the door. "Tell me this thing has a stun setting."

" _Is the light blue?"_

She checked. "Green."

" _Switch is on the side. You take care of the people shooting at you and I'll continue trying my best down here."_

Maera flipped the switch and the indicator turned bright blue. The blaster fire had stopped, and that didn't comfort her at all. "Right." She deactivated the overlay mode, and heard a screech, a thud, and a scream from the other end. "Grimoire? What's happening down there?!"

" _Just take care of the—"_  The rest of his reply was garbled, before the link went dead.  _Well, shit._

She scowled and poked her head around the door and shot off a couple shots, hearing one of the pirates let out an oath as he was hit. Followed very quickly by return fire.

Maera ducked back behind the wall, snarling curses in German.  _I'm shooting left-handed. Grimoire's caught up in the medbay trying to get Sleipnir back up and running. There's at least three pirates shooting at us, and probably more on their ship. And my ability to draw mana properly is shot to hell for some gods-awful reason._  She thought, checking the charge on the blaster. It was still good, but her shots had been going wide. Granted, she hadn't exactly been aiming for anything vital, either...

" _One day your summer will end, Maera. It does for all of us who choose the path we have."_

She set her jaw. Why had  _that_  popped into her head, now of all moments? It wasn't like she hadn't been in life-or-death situations since meeting her ancestor, after all...

She heard someone shift behind her. "You aim badly for someone used to handling a weapon, Messiah."

Instincts took over. Maera dove to the side, springing up from her roll into a firing position, her blaster aimed at her ambusher's pistol hand. He was wearing...she didn't know in  _what_  universe it'd be sensible space pirate attire. His jumpsuit was black with gold running down down either side, and shoulder pads that spiked out at the shoulders. It was double-breasted, with a stiff collar that looked more like it belonged on a greatcoat than his bodysuit. And he wore a half-cape over one shoulder, with boots whose heels had to be at least three inches high.

 _And people say_ _I'm_   _vain in a fight. At least I have better fashion taste than this clown._

Followed by,  _How the hell did he_ _get there_ _?!_

The man didn't seem phased by her reaction. Instead he just readjusted his aim. "You have no need to fear me, Messiah."

"You have a gun pointed at my face. I'm not so much afraid right now as I am pissed off."

He smiled, eyes chilly. "Understandable. You are no doubt unaware of your importance to our order."

"I ain't got nothing to do with whatever crazy, fashion-challenged cult you're a part of."

"Little do you know, you already do."

"Ya mind telling me  _exactly_  what kind of cult I'm supposedly connected to? What's this 'Messiah' thing you're blathering about?"

"All in good time." The man closed the distance between them, extending a hand. He kept his blaster up, though. "Accept your rightful place among us and our leader shall explain all."

Maera didn't reply. At least, not right away. Instead, she felt around her for the aether current they'd been riding; it was still there, and still flowing strong.  _So we didn't have the proverbial rug yanked out from under us._   _Doesn't feel like it's going anywhere either..._ She felt a tingle in the back of her skull as she pulled the mana into herself...or tried to. The more she tried to hang onto the magic, the more it slipped away.  _If the debacle on Amonkhet caused this I'm_ _so_   _going to track down Bolas and shove a red-hot poker up his scaly, smelly, giant asshole._

The image in her head made her want to laugh, but she stifled the giggles and kept the blaster aimed at the man's head. He dropped his hand, sighing. "A shame. It seems you have no intention to come with me."

"Doesn't sound particularly appealing, no."

He hummed. He put a finger to the earpiece in his ear. "Bring the boy. Our Messiah doesn't appear to wish to join our crusade."

"Looking and acting like some crazy religious zealot isn't helping the image, buddy."

He frowned at her and lowered his hand. "Do you care for your companion?"

Maera blinked. Well,  _that_  was out of the blue. "...Why?"

"Do you wish to see him unharmed?"

"Well, considering how he's a lot more likable than you."

"Good." He turned to leave the room. "Care to join me?"

"No."

"Suit yourself." Suddenly, he was gone. Maera barely had time to react before something hard and metal smacked into the side of the head. The woman stumbled, stunned by the hit. His knee came up and slammed into her gut, sending her sprawling to the ground. Roughly, he pulled her up the collar and shoved her out the door in front of him.

She caught herself on her left arm, keeping herself from slamming face-first into the deck. She was picking herself up as a boot slammed down on the middle of her back, pinning her down. "You're about to find out how much of a burden caring can be."

Maera kicked out behind her, hoping to catch his other foot and trip him. All she got was a cold chuckle. "Fuck  _you._ "

"I'm sorry, but I'm celibate." He pressed down for a moment, and Maera let out a protesting sound. "I'd look up if I were you."

She did so, and was greeted with the sight of Grimoire being shoved roughly to the ground, a gash on his cheek sheeting blood down his face and his arms bound behind his back. He grimaced and hissed in pain as he landed, the brunt of it taken by his broken leg. "You look like hell."

The vedalken groaned and shifted as best he could, and gave her a grim smirk. "Coming from the one missing an arm."

"Your face is bleeding."

"So's yours."

"My leg isn't broken."

"Half your face is purple."

"You literally look like someone tried shoving you through a paper shredder."

The man stepping on her back groaned.

Maera grinned.

Grim raised a sardonic eyebrow. "You get off on annoying people, don't you?"

"What can I say? I love being an asshole. It's part of my charm."

One of the younger pirates groaned and looked to his superior. "Please, make her stop."

Another one piped up, "...can we have a different Messiah?"

Maera's wide grin turned into an all-out laugh.

The man pressed down harder. " _Quiet."_  He snarled. "What did you two find?"

"These." One of the pirates held up an object, and Maera had to crane her neck to see what it was. Her eyes went wide.

" _Put that down you motherfuckers!"_

She could hear the sneer in the senior douchebag's voice as he spoke. "Ahh, so that sword is yours?" He said. "Where would you get such a thing? I see no energy ports. It looks like an ancient saber to me."

"It's not a saber. It's a katana. And I swear to  _god_  that if you don't put it down I'm going to blow your hand clean off and take it that way!"

The leader hmmed. "An ancient sword, a spell-woven blaster, and a piece of Eternity in your soul." He mused. "It's as the Progenitor foretold. You are our Messiah."

"I ain't  _nobody's_  Messiah. And who the hell is your Progenitor, some wack who thinks he's a god?"

"The Progenitor  _is_  our god. And he foretold your arrival." A beat. "You  _must_  join us; it is your destiny to lead all of Etrides to the Eternities, and to bring us all into that divinity."

Maera's spine chilled.  _The Eternities. Somehow, I don't think that's anything other than the_ _Blind_   _Eternities._  She thought.  _And I don't like the idea of 'leading all of Etrides' into a place that rips anyone who isn't a Planeswalker into subatomic bits._

_These guys are nuts._

" **I don't think I've quite gotten through to you;**   _fuck no._ "

Again she could  _hear_  the sneer in his voice. "I'd reconsider if I were you." He addressed his two goons. "Break his knee."

The goon that had shoved Grimoire to the ground acted without hesitation. He drove his heel hard into the vedalken's knee, the same leg that had been broken by the light panel. Grim shrieked as the bone cracked, both stomach-churning sounds that made Maera feel sick.

"You. Mother.  _Fuckers._ "

"You don't seem to be very creative with insults. That's the third or fourth time for that one." Her captor's voice was too calm. "Next is his skull. Unless you choose to take your place in our mission."

Maera craned her neck, glaring at the man holding her down. "Your conversion speech needs some serious work, asshole."

The man frowned at her, then nodded to his subordinate. "Show her we don't joke."

Maera felt her blood turn cold.  _Fucking hell. I am_ _not_   _watching someone die. I've had to watch too much death, to hell with letting this happen!_ Ignoring the warning bells in her mind, Maera reached out with her senses and drew what mana she could grasp.  _I'm desperate here._ _Please_   _let this work!_

Slowly, she felt the magic build. Normally, it'd be accompanied by the familiar coolness of blue magic, but this time it was filled with a painful  _burn_. Maera ignored it, and instead channeled it into a spell, throwing in all her desperation and anger as fuel.

" _Brisingr."_

Icy cold fire sheathed her arm and shoulders, eliciting a pained yelp from the head pirate (or zealot, depending on how you looked at it). Maera rolled to her feet, lashing out with her arm, slamming him back and pinning him to the wall with solidified flame. More sensing than hearing the next goon, she spun on her heel and landed a solid punch to the jaw, the goon going down cold.

She turned to the last guy, who looked like he was about to piss his pants. "I suggest you take your buddies and go." She said, giving him the coldest glare she could muster. Her arm hurt. Her shoulders hurt. Her back hurt. "I don't like killing."

The kid stood there, wide-eyed with terror. "M-Messiah—"

"I ain't  _nobody's_ fucking messiah." She pointed to the sword. "Now drop the katana, take your friends, and amscray. Before I  _make_  you scram, and you won't want that."

The kid didn't need any prompting. He dropped the sword and did as she said, Maera glaring at him as he retrieved his unconscious allies and dragged them back onto the pirates' ship. Once gone, she sagged, the magic dissipating. She didn't need to look at her left arm to know it was in bad shape; she could feel the burns from forcing the spell. Knowing she'd feel sick, she looked down at her arm to see how badly she'd managed to hurt herself.

She looked away.  _That was a bad idea. A very bad idea._

Still. Other problems. Wincing, she knelt down next to Grim. "You still conscious?"

He groaned in reply. "You're an idiot."

"Yes, I know."

"Your arm's frostbitten."

Maera was clumsily undoing the restraints on his wrists. "Don't remind me. Please. I might puke if I look at it too long." Once done, she stood, holding out a hand. "Here, lemme help you up."

Grimoire grunted and allowed himself to be helped up. His face went pale and he looked as if he were about to faint, but he stayed upright and accepted Maera's shoulder as a crutch. "Lately it seems  _I've_  been the one helping  _you_  get around."

Maera snorted. "Consider it my way of paying you back." She said as they entered the cockpit, she being careful not to jostle the vedalken's mangled leg too badly. "Though I'm going to want some explanation as to why those loons were calling me their 'Messiah'."

"Once we get  _Sleipnir_  back up and running," Grim said as he slid back down into a chair. "Did you manage to get any of the powered cables attached?"

"A few, but not many before those assholes started shooting at me."

He grunted. "Better than nothing, I guess. Let's see what we've got." His hands flew over the controls with practiced ease, much better than Maera's own fumbling earlier. His face brightened. "Well, good news and bad news. The good news is that  _Sleipnir_  should have enough power for intraship comms."

"And the bad news?"

Grimoire sighed, running a hand down his face. "The bad news is our FTL drive is fried." He said. "When those cultists yanked us out of the highway, it forced us out of FTL and fried the drive. There was some damage done to the sublight engines, but they're still operable."

Maera felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. "How long'll it take us to get to Sontra, then?"

Grim blew out a noisy breath. "A month. Or more. Way too long to go on just sublight."

The half-faerie pinched the bridge of her nose. "Is there anyplace closer?"

" _Saiyani Spaceport, above Alkonost IV. It'll be a two-week flight on sublight though."_

Grim raised an eyebrow as the AI spoke. "Nice of you to speak up."

" _Well excuuuuse me for having my circuits fried! While you two were having fun fighting off cultist pirates,_ _I_   _was trying to get my wires uncrossed enough to put together a coherent thought!"_

"A simple 'thank you' would've sufficed."

" _What's there to thank you for?!"_

"For one, Maera nearly got shot in the butt while rerouting power to your brain."

"Oi!"

" _Well yippee then, thank you_ _so_   _much. Then how did the_ _console_   _get shot up and fried?!"_

"Blame the pirates. They were the assholes trying to shoot my butt off. And my face. And my balls. And everything else."

Grimoire raised an eyebrow at her. "You don't have balls."

"Yes I do. They're just inside, not hanging out with a big fat target on them."

A snort of laughter came from the comm speaker. " _Oh, this is going to be a fuuun trip, Grim. I hope you like white coats."_

A groan escaped the vedalken. "Shut up."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably sounding reeeeeally repetetive by now, but if you're liking this so far feel free to leave kudos, follow/subscribe, and/or review. I won't hold this story hostage for a certain number (the people who do that really need to be slapped upside the head. It's petty and irritating), but that doesn't mean those things don't feel nice to get ^^. Especially reviews.


	4. Kicking a Bee's Nest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we get some backstory from Maera and Zachar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay on this chapter, a lot of things happened all at once over this past weekend. Preparations and then the main event of one of my best friends' birthday happened, which delayed (not regrettably) the revision and posting of this chapter. Barring IRL stuff like birthday parties, internet accessability, and the odd bout of being sick, I should be able to get one chapter out every other Friday or Saturday.
> 
> Also, if there's the odd mispelling or typo, I apologize in advance. For some bizzarre reason, OpenOffice has forgotten how to English, so it's noting EVERYTHING as mispelled, rather than just actual mispellings. I tried my best to correct all of the potiential grammatical and spelling errors in the revision, but there might still be one or two floating around in there. I'm gonna have to start running each chapter through Google Docs or something till I figure out how to teach OpenOffice English again....
> 
> Anyway, the usual disclaimer: I don't own anything in Magic--all the characters, locations, and lore belong to Wizards of the Coast. All I own are my fanwalkers and fanplanes (like Etrides), and I'm only writing this for my own entertainment.

**Chapter Four**

**Kicking a Bee's Nest**

* * *

 

 **The**  two weeks to Saiyani Spaceport was spent in perpetual boredom. The many attempts to break up the monotony included Maera repeatedly oiling Icefire ("Is that sword your safety blanket or something?"), Grimoire finding out and then promptly deciding to try and fix Maera's fried smartphone ("You weren't kidding when you said your plane's tech was archaic."), and the vedalken teaching her how to pilot  _Sleipnir_. Or, trying to, at least.

The ship had more than a few opinions about her skill in the cockpit.

" _THAT'S AN ASTEROID, NOT A HULL DECORATION!"_

Maera slammed the control to port to avoid the asteroid in question as Grimoire hung on to the seat next to her, white-knuckled and turning green. They  _barely_ missed the space rock, and the woman breathed a sigh of relief. "Um. Whups."

" _Whups is_ _not_   _the word. Have you_ _ever_   _been on a spaceship before?"_

"No."

" _Oh. My. God. Grim, please make her stop. I don't think my circuits can take much more of this..."_

"Your circuits are fine. It's  _my_  nerves I'm worried about."

Maera gave him a deadpan look. "Well excuse me for not being born in the friggin' Federation. Wrong century on my world."

Grim rubbed a hand down his face, sighing. "I can't wait until we reach Saiyani."

"You and me both." Maera leaned back in her chair, resting her hand behind her head. "How's your leg?"

Grim snorted softly. "Fine enough, I guess. Spending half my time drugged up on painkillers so I'm functional, anyway."

" _I keep on telling you to get a medibot. But nooo, you say we don't need one because you can handle injuries all by yourself."_

"I'm handling this one, aren't I?"

" _You_ _just_   _said you were stoned on painkillers!"_

"No, I said I was  _drugged up_  on painkillers. There's a difference."

" _What's the difference?!"_

"The difference is that I'm coherent, rather than stumbling into walls like a drunk."

" _That's debatable."_

Maera, meanwhile was listening to the exchange with amusement. "You know, you two sound like an old married couple."

Grimoire stared at her, and Maera had the feeling that if  _Sleipnir_  could the ship would be too. " _What."_

She shrugged. "I'm serious. You two sound like a pair of husbands who've been married for the past eighty years bitching at each other about who was supposed to take out the garbage last night."

Grim blinked at her. Then shook his head. "Please tell me we're getting close to the port."

" _Sorry, there's still another five days to go."_

Grimoire groaned and leaned back into his chair, hands over his face. "Eternities, I'm going to go insane before we get there."

"You know, a friend of mine once said that  _all_  Planeswalkers were at least partly insane, whether they admit it or not..."

Grim glared at her through a gap in his fingers. "Not. Helping."

Maera shrugged again. "Just sayin'."

Grimoire's glare didn't abate. If anything, it darkened. He sighed again and rubbed his face before dropping his hands. "How's the arm?"

Maera looked to the bandaged limb. She flexed her fingers. "Fine, I guess." She replied. "Sore, sure, but I guess that's to be expected." She raised an eyebrow at him. "Leg?"

Grim grunted. "Fine."

" _Despite being stoned on painkillers."_

"I am  _not_  stoned on painkillers!"

" _Semantics."_

Now it was Maera's turn to roll her eyes. "You need to get a punching bag."

"...Why?"

"So I have something to beat the lights out of so I don't go insane listening to  _you two_  snipe at each other all day."

"Your answer to everything is violence, isn't it?"

"No it's not."

"Riiight."

" _I seem to remember one of you mentioning something about an 'old married couple'..."_

Maera threw a wadded-up sheet of paper at the console. "Shut up."

Grimoire held out a hand palm-up in Maera's direction. "I rest my case."

"You shut up too."

"I don't hear you denying it."

Maera sat back and shoved her hand in her pocket. "I'm good at beating shit up. Not so good at being stuck in a tiny spaceship for two weeks with only a snarky AI and emo vedalken for company."

" _I'm not tiny! I have room for up to ten crew, for your information!"_

"Yeah, in coffin bunks. D'you know how many times I've smacked my head on the top of my bunk?  _Every damn morning!_  I've got a black-and-blue spot in the middle of my forehead!"

Grimoire gave her another glare. "I'm not emo."

"Yes you are. You look like an edgy emo kid who's trying to look punk."

"And you look like a slob."

"I do not!"

"You're literally wearing the same shirt as yesterday."

"...no I'm not."

"I can see where you dumped pizza and coffee down your front. And please tell me that isn't a  _rope_  holding your pants up..."

"I couldn't find a belt, okay?!"

" _Couple, old, married."_

" _Can it!"_

The duo sat and fumed in their seats for a minute, before a smile started quirking at the edges of Maera's mouth. Then it morphed into a grin, then a snicker, until finally she was all-out laughing. Grimoire gave her a strange 'wtf' expression. "...Are you okay?"

Maera wiped at the corner of her eye. "Yeah," she replied, still laughing. "It's just, well...you'd fit  _right_  in with my friends."

"Are they all as broken as you?"

"Yeah. Just don't ever tell Jace that. Or Gideon. They'd both glare at you. And I'm pretty sure Nissa would point at Liliana and say she's the most broken of us all." She paused. "...Though I wouldn't exactly argue that fact. Anybody who hangs around half-rotten corpses has  _got_  to have some issues."

"Are you all Planeswalkers?"

Maera shook her head. "Not  _everyone_. Niko, Darren, Lise, and Troy aren't." She said. "Bels, Karr, Jace, Gids, Szord, Chandra, Ral...they all are." Her smile faded. "I just wish to hell that I knew where they were..."

Grimoire's brow knitted. "What happened?"

Maera let out a deep breath, not answering right away. She fiddled with a lock of hair, scuffing her foot on the deck. "...Shit is what happened." She said, voice soft. "We went barreling onto a plane called Amonkhet to take on a bit, scaly douchebag who's been mucking about causing trouble all over the Multiverse, named Nicol Bolas—or as I like to call him, Nicol Butthead."

"Let me guess; he's a Planeswalker too."

Maera nodded. "And the biggest asshole you'll ever meet. And I've met some damned big ones." She replied. "'Bout...forty- or fifty-ish years ago he showed up on Amonkhet and set himself up as 'God-Pharaoh', killing pretty much anyone old enough to know better. All to put together a giant undead army for some reason. I think." She let out a breath and rubbed her eyes with thumb and forefinger. "Well, a bunch of friends and I—the Gatewatch, after Sea Gate on Zendikar—decided we'd find this guy and kill him."

"I'm assuming by the condition you were in when you showed up on Etrides, you didn't succeed."

"Putting it mildly." Maera let her hand fall limply to her side, leaning her head back on the headrest. She closed her eyes. "In short, we got our asses handed to us. We basically showed up with no better plan than 'fuck up Bolas', and he countered literally  _everything_  we threw at him. And we threw  _everything we had_  at him." She clenched her fist, ignoring the protests from her frostbitten hand. "And it  _wasn't enough._  We drew all the mana we could, used our strongest spells, even drew magic directly from the Blind Eternities themselves via our Sparks...and we  _still_  got our asses handed to us." She took a deep breath, calming herself before she punched something. "And I have no  _fucking idea_  where anyone else would've 'walked."  _Or if Bolas_ _let_   _them leave alive._

Grimoire, to his credit, was silent for a long moment before he next spoke. "...So, that's how you lost your arm."

Maera grunted and ran her hand through her hair. "I basically got one of the spells I threw at him countered, modified, and then thrown back at me." Her stump twinged at the memory, a vestige from the pain following her arm's literal explosion. "Wouldn't be surprised if that's what knotted up my mana lines."

"Do you know anyone who may be able to help un-knot it?"

Maera nodded. "I think so, anyway." She said. "Either Bels or Emily. Most likely Emily. She's a healer, and Bels is...well, have you ever heard of an astralmancer?"

"No...what is it?"

"An astralmancer is someone who can... _see_  magic." Maera explained. "They're a type of mage that was super rare, even  _before_  the Mending." She held up a hand to stop the inevitable question. "Err... _that_  is a story for another day. Mostly because that's how long it'll take to explain all the weird shit that happened back then."  _And my own adventures with time travel..._  "Anyway...they pop up less often than someone goes sparky, which is why in a lot of circles the consensus is that astralmancers are  _hypothetical._  They exist on paper, sure, but they just don't happen in real life."

Grimoire rolled his eyes and fidgeted with the buttons on the cuff of his sleeve. "If there's one thing I've learned from being a Planeswalker, it's that  _nothing_  is impossible."

"Damn straight. It's hilarious whenever someone figures out that yes, Bels is an astralmancer and yes,  _they do fucking exist._ " Maera snickered. "Remind me sometime to tell you the story of this one self-important pretty-boy on Esper... _ohhh_ , the look on his face when he saw the boot heading for his face."

Grim's eyebrow went skyward once again. "You're never bored, are you?"

Maera snorted a laugh. "Nope. It's more fun to be an asshole. Especially to those who  _deserve_  it." She opened an eye and held up a finger. "I'm an equal-opportunity jackass; you be an ass to me, and I'll be one right back."

"Again I say it; you are broken."

"I know it. And I fucking  _love it._ "

" _Oh, Grim, why do you always attract the crazy ones..."_

"I don't attract the crazy ones." Grimoire griped. "Nasala at least isn't a lunatic."

" _That could be debated."_

Maera's brow furrowed. "Who's Nasala?"

"A friend of mine." The vedalken replied. "She's usually aboard  _Sleipnir_  with me, along with a few others."

"How many, usually?" Maera nodded to the hatch leading to the rest of the ship. "This place  _does_  seem a bit big for only one person. Still small, but not  _that_  small."

"Four or five, usually. Including me." He ticked them off on his fingers. "Myself, Nasala, X'vir, and Ganneth. Sometimes Tone tags along too."

"Sounds like it gets crowded."

Grim shrugged. "It's usually not too bad. But then, I've been living primarily on  _Sleipnir_  for so long, I'm probably used to it by now."

"You never told me about that. How long  _have_  you had him, anyway?"

" _Aww, you're not calling me an 'it' anymore."_

"That's because most inanimate objects can't talk back when you gas up the head."

" _Just because I don't have a biological nose does_ _not_   _mean I can't tell when something stinks. For the love of the Eternities, what the hell did you_ _eat_ _?!"_

"The same thing Grim's been, and I can tell you that I'm missing mac-n-cheese because of it." She returned her attention to Grimoire. "You said you inherited him from your parents, but...not more than that."

Grim shrugged. "What's more to tell? My parents...passed, and part of what I inherited was  _Sleipnir_."

" _Well, 'passed' isn't exactly the word I would use..."_

Grimoire's eyes hardened. "Shut up."

Maera, however, caught on to the change of expression, however slight. "Something bad happen to them?"

He didn't reply right away. He fiddled with something on the console, averting his eyes. Maera saw the tension in his shoulders. "...yes. I don't like to talk about it."

" _I can attest to that."_

"Quiet, you."

" _Nyeh."_

Maera cocked a brow. "Your ship is immature."

"Oh, I know. Try  _living with him._ "

" _I am_ _right here_ _."_

"Do I look like I care?"

Maera listened to the two bicker again before piping up. "Y'know, a friend of mine once said that sometimes it's good to talk about something you don't want to." She said. "Something about it being good therapy or something."

"You're not exactly a therapist."

"Call it self-therapy, then." Maera shrugged. "I don't need to listen if you don't want me to."

"...I still don't want to talk about it."

"Suit yourself." She got up and strode over to the coffee maker. Like the aether drive, a lot of the not-quite-essential systems were down. Such as the the food replicator. Grimoire had managed to get the ship off of emergency power, but some of the non-primary systems were still inoperable.

Like the replicator.

Maera sniffed at the coffee, then took a taste. She cringed; it was horrible.  _I can't wait till we get to that spaceport. I miss good coffee. And tea._  "Then...what's all this 'Messiah' business? Who were those weirdos, and why were they so hell-bent on having me join their club?"

Grim blew out a breath. "You're going to need more coffee."

Maera put down her cup and took the pot out of the maker, striding over and promptly refilling the vedalken's mug. "Shoot. We've only got the better part of a week to kill."

Grim raised his mug to her in a salute as she replaced the pot and returned to her seat with her own mug. "They call themselves the Cult of the Bleeding Light. Yes, they actually  _admit_  that they're a cult." He said, at Maera's disbelieving blink. "For the most part, they're a bunch of religious crazy people who yell about their 'mission' on street corners and unused comm frequencies." He explained, propping his feet up on the console. "They claim that they're on a mission from their god, to unite all of Etrides with Eternity, so they can 'take their message beyond the stars'." He peered at her out of the corner of an eye. "Their words, not mine."

"I gathered." Maera sipped at her coffee, frowning. "But that sounds  _way_  too much like breaking through to the  _Blind_  Eternities to me."

"That's because it probably is." Grim replied with a sigh. "And, well, until recently they weren't taken seriously—not that it wasn't hard to crack jokes about them. It's a little hard to put much stock in a grown man yelling at the top of his lungs and waving his arms around like he's having a fit."

" _Don't forget the stupid hats. Or the makeup."_

"Please tell me those stupid hats aren't white hoods..."

" _Oh, no, not even close. They look like they've got wings growing out of them, only the wings have wings of their own...it's just easier if you see for yourself. They're_ _ridiculous_ _."_

"I'll take your word for it..." She looked back to Grim. "So, harmless. But annoying."

"Yes..."

"I smell a 'but' at the end of that."

"There is." He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "Within last few years, though, they've had a new leader—the Progenitor's what they call him—at the head of their organization. One who's more...hands-on about their prophecy."

"Uh, prophecy?" Maera blinked at him. "And by 'hands-on' you mean 'yanking people out of FTL and threatening to kill them until they convert'."

Grim was taking a drink of coffee and nodded as he lowered his mug. "You could put it that way, yes."

"Well, I guess that explains  _why_  Captain I-Need-Fashion-Help ambushed us. That still doesn't explain why he was calling me 'Messiah' and the prophecy you mentioned."

"Yeah...that." He rubbed the back of his neck. "It's something that their so-called 'god' predicted a couple thousand years ago, give or take." He leaned back in his chair, the seat groaning at the strain. "The story goes that someone appeared out of nowhere on a rogue planet somewhere near the Galactic Core. He claimed to be a god trapped in mortal form." He shrugged. "Kid of like you, only minus the bleeding out and with added lost marbles and raving."

"Thanks...I think."

"Anyway, he managed to amass a following. As with most cults, it started out with a few...weirdos—"

" _Oh just say it; crazy people."_

"—and grew over time. Along the way he claimed to be capable of seeing the future, and predicted that two thousand years after his arrival, Etrides would be visited by another like him. One who'd be bloodied, carrying a staff and an enchanted sword." He paused to take another drink of his coffee before continuing. "He started calling them the 'Messiah', who would be the one to lead the religion he'd started to—again, not my words—'unite Etrides with Eternity'...um, Maera? Are you all right?"

Maera had a white-knuckled grip on the handle of her coffee mug. "...Icefire." She said. "And...the staff..." she shook her head.  _C'mon. Mages are kind of a thing on this plane, at least from what you've seen so far. You're rooming with one right now for heaven's sake. No way you're the only one running around with a mage staff and magical weaponry._  Still, the whole "uniting with Eternity" part didn't sit well with her, especially given how Captain Fashion-Challenged had spoken. And the whole 'god' business... "Grim...I have a question. A couple, actually."

"Shoot."

"First question...what's the likelihood that this crazy person is a Planeswalker?"

Grim chewed on the question for a moment before replying. "...Not unlikely. I've been around the Multiverse, and I've run into several cases where, on separate planes, there were planesbound people worshipping the same person as gods. And a couple cases of those Planeswalkers-turned-gods encouraging it." He nodded to her. "I think your Nicol Bolas falls into the latter category."

Maera snorted. "Well, he  _did_  remodel an  _entire plane_  to fuel his oversized ego." She said. "But..." she shook her head. "You said that was  _two thousand years ago?"_

"Around there, yes. Why?"

Maera put down her mug and bit her thumbnail. "That's...a long time ago. A  _way_  long time ago."

"Really? I'd never noticed."

Maera shot him a glare. "Not my point." She waved her hand as if she was shooing a thought away. "See, about...sixty-ish years ago there was this thing called the Mending. Up till then, Planeswalkers pretty much  _were_  gods. We were immortal, could change our bodies at will, build and destroy whole planes as easily as farting."

"...You never run out of charming images, do you?"

Maera stuck her tongue out at him. "Long story short, Planeswalkers could do  _anything_. We were nigh invincible." She put her hand behind her head and leaned back, crossing her legs. "And then the Mending happened. The name is pretty self-explanatory; a bunch of old, pre-Mending Planeswalkers who'd been around a while and actually gave a shit about the Multiverse literally  _mended_  rips in reality that were opening into the Blind Eternities, to keep said Multiverse from falling apart."

Grimoire let out a low whistle. "Sounds like we missed out."

"Eh." Maera shrugged. "Personally, I'm happy being as I am. Don't need the power of a god." She shrugged. "Anyway, apart from sealing the rifts, the Mending did something else; it changed the nature of the Spark  _entirely_. It knocked Planeswalkers off their pedestals as gods, and any pre-Mending 'walkers went back to being, well...mortal. Not gods anymore. It made the Planeswalker Spark far more rare, making a successful ignition a literal one-in-a-billion chance. And any new 'walkers who sparked out wouldn't have known the godlike abilities that were around before the Mending."

Again, the low whistle. "How much research did you have to do to learn all that?"

"Well..." Maera fiddled with a lock of her hair sheepishly, figuring out the best way to put it. "I was...kind of there. And a few of my friends were around for a few centuries too so...yeah."

Silence. Apart from the ever-present engine rumble, there was complete and utter silence in the compartment. Finally, Grimoire broke it. "You...what?"

Maera felt her ears start to pinken. "Okay, first, I was born  _after_  the Mending. Time travel was involved." She said. "So, technically, I've never been involved. Nor do I  _want_  to be a god; that would be one very,  _very_  bad joke."

" _Not as bad a joke as Grim's underwear drawer."_

"Shut up, Sleipnir. Or I'll pour hot sauce down your intake valves again."

" _You wouldn't."_

"I would and you know it."

" _You are twelve."_

"And you're two."

Maera whistled at the two. "Next question incoming." She pinned Grim with a look and picked her mug back up. "How do  _you_  know about this pre-Mending wacko future-predictor's prophecy?"

Grim played with the handle of his coffee mug, then carefully put it down. He sighed heavily through his nose. "That's...complicated."

" _You can say that again."_

"Complicated how?" Maera's eyes narrowed. "Grimoire...what sort of connection do you have with those guys?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. "A weird one." He groaned. "One that gives me a headache."

" _And before you ask, there's no ex-zealotry involved."_

Maera grunted. "Good to know." She drained her mug before fully facing the vedalken, her elbow resting on her nee. "What's happening on this plane? What's the deal with this cult yanking people out of FTL? And the Inquisitorium? And with you too, while we're at it."

Grim rubbed his face with his hands. He swung his feet back down to the deck and turned his seat to face her, mirroring Maera's posture. "All right. Sleipnir?"

" _Yes?"_

"Keep quiet while I explain things. Everything." Grim said. "Just let me know if we run into anything unwanted."

" _It's space. There's a_ _lot_   _of unwanted things out here."_

"You know what I mean."

" _Aye aye, Boss."_

Maera raised an eyebrow at the sudden change in the ship's AI, but didn't comment. Instead she motioned for Grimoire to continue.

"The Inquisitorium...they're the galaxy's big, nasty secret. They've got their hands in virtually every government, pulling strings behind the scenes to only the Eternities knows what ends—though they  _claim_  it's to 'preserve civilization'. Not many people even know they exist, and the few who do either work for them...or are dead."

"So how d'you know about them, then?"

Grim fidgeted. "I...was one of the former." He replied. "Several years ago. I left."

Maera's mouth tightened. "I thought you said the people who knew about the Inquistorium were dead if they weren't part of the club."

"I'm an...outlier." He shrugged. "Being a Planeswalker has its benefits. If I see them closing in, I leave. Then come back in a few days—"

" _Or weeks."_

"—or weeks later, when the heat's died down." He finished, shooting a glare at the ceiling.

Maera studied him. "You always come back though." She stated. "It'd just be easier to bail. Just set up on another plane and start over."

"I know."

"Must be something damned important to keep you coming back. Otherwise you wouldn't be here."

A pause. "Etrides is my home. I care about it."

"It's more than that." Maera was fiddling with her hair again. "Something deeper than just caring about your home plane." She paused. "Which, I can get myself. Terrestiel's got a lot of problems, but I still like it enough to not fuck off altogether."  _Though for the life of me I still can't figure out why._

Grim responded with a half-amused, half-sour snort. "It's a stupid reason."

"Can't be all that stupid to you."

He knitted his hands together, knuckles whitening. "...They had my parents killed. I've been trying to pull them down for years."

 _So it's a grudge. He wants revenge._  Maera thought.  _Oldest motivator in the book._  "What made them kill your parents, then? They some powerful politicos who wouldn't bow to the Inquisitorium's blackmail or something?"

Grim shook his head. "They'd been a part of it. Before I was born, they defected." He replied. "The Inquisitorium...you don't just  _leave_. It's not an option." He wiped a hand down his face. "Once you join, it's a lifetime job. You're either there until you die, or..."

He didn't need to finish; Maera did so for him. "Or you're killed on the way out."

"Exactly."

The picture was coming together for the half-fae. "So when your parents defected, assassins were sent out for them."

Grimoire nodded. "They spent about a decade or so running around the galaxy, putting as much physical, atheric, and digital distance between themselves and the Inquisitorium as they could. By the time I came along, they'd covered their tracks and disappeared into the ether—pun  _not_  intended—and settled down on Novax III, where I grew up." A small, wistful smile spread over his face. "It was a favorite place for smugglers to set up for a while and either rest up after a run, get ships repaired, sell their load on the black market, or just hide out for a while from the authorities."

"Sounds like kind of a, um... _interesting_  place to raise a kid."

Grim shrugged. "It's not as bad is it sounds, honestly. For the most part, the only lawbreakers that hung around were smugglers, pirates, and the odd corrupt admiral or consulat." He looked out the viewscreen, face wistful. "And for the most part, they've got a pretty strong sense of honor. Keep to yourself, don't stir up trouble, and if  _anyone_  finds out that you're trading in slaves, kids, murder, well..." he shrugged. "Let's just say you'd better hurry up and find a new home port."

"How'd your parents get found out?"

He didn't reply right away. His expression shifted too, from wistful to...sad. "Looking back, I'd bet a million creds the Inquisitorium knew where they were all along." He said, still looking out at space. "Probably just let my dads think they'd managed to hide themselves away, long enough to let hem raise their kid at least. No idea why." His shoulders rose and fell in a silent sigh, and he closed his eyes and looked away from the view. "But...he'd taken up there, claiming to be a information broker. Said he was going to be hiding out there for a while, until heat from the Union died down. Thought he was a decent, stand-up guy—well, barring the blackmail, anyway."

"Until he turned out to be an assassin for the Inquisitorium."

"Yes." Grim sat back again and ran a hand through his hair, eyes still closed. "Well, the broker part was true; he really did sell information, just not as an independent."

Maera's mouth twisted. "I've dealt with a few of  _those_  people. Sounds like he'd be perfect on Fiora."

Grim grunted. "Anyway. The information broking was only half of his deal. The other half was being an Inquisitorium-employed agent. I don't know if being an assassin was part of his job description or not, but he was good enough at it to kill my parents."

"Why didn't they go for you, too?"

"They did." Grim shook his head. "I got lucky. Wasn't home when Dad and Pa were killed; I walked in on the cleanup." He opened his eyes, mouth twisting sourly at the memory. "Thought I'd faint. Didn't get a chance before the new neighbor shot me in the chest."

"And your Spark ignited."

He nodded. "I felt the bolt go clean through, and thought the only reason my brain was still functioning was because the message from my heart that it'd stopped hadn't reached it yet." He rubbed a spot on his chest, where Maera suspected the blaster bolt must've hit. "But instead of going cold, everything  _burned_  instead. And then I was falling, but instead of hitting the ground I fell  _through_  the world, through something that wasn't space—the Blind Eternities—and landed flat on my back in a tree. And then  _out_  of the tree, onto a giant effing anthill."

Despite herself, Maera started laughing. She put her hand over her mouth to muffle the snorting mirth, shoulders shaking with laughing. Grim gave her a deadpan scowl. "What's so damn funny?"

Maera held out her hand, finger raised, mouth clamped securely shut as she waited for the giggles to pass. "You—you sparked out, crashed into a tree...and then  _fell flat on your ass right on top of an anthill!"_

Once again she dissolved into giggles, quickly devolving into full-on guffaws, all while Grimoire gave her an eye-twitching glower. "Do you  _always_  get laughs out of other people's misery?"

It took several minutes before Maera had recovered enough to be coherent. "Y-yes. Especially when it's something like  _that._ " She gigglesnorted again, grinning. "Of all the crazy, unlucky,  _embarrassing_  things I've heard for first Planeswalks, this is the  _first_  time I've heard of someone ending up with  _ants in their pants!"_

Grimoire let out a noisy sigh and shook his head before picking his coffee mug back up, and nodded to her. "Well, I've told my Spark story. Only fair that you tell me yours."

Maera sat back in her chair, leaning back with a sigh. "If you promise to tell me how you ended up back in the organization your parents fucked out of."

"Deal."

Maera nodded, stretched, and propped her boots up on a part of the console in front of her that wasn't covered in data slates, bits of paper, or her coffee mug. "It didn't involve getting shot in the chest. Just my own stupidity."

Grim raised an eyebrow. "Really? What did you do, get yourself stuck on a cliffside?"

Maera snorted. "No. I was defending my friends, and in the way I do best; like a crazy-ass motherfucker."

"What did you blow up?"

Maera gaped at him. "I never said I blew anything up!"

"Whenever the term 'crazy-ass motherfucker' is involved, something  _always_  blows up." He took a sip of his coffee, then made a face when he found it was cold. "So. What did you blow up?"

Maera scratched a spot on her chin. "...I might have made a crater. Where a lab was."

Grim was getting up to refill his mug when he froze. " _What."_

"Hey, I said it involved me being an idiot!"

"You blew up a lab and left a  _crater."_

"In my defense, the lab belonged to a mad-scientist assface who's creepy as hell, so no big loss."

" _There could have been people in there!"_

"It'd been evacuated, okay?!"

The vedalken rolled his eyes. "Why do I always find the crazy ones?"

" _Because you're addicted to insanity and haven't admitted it yet."_

"Shut up. I didn't ask you."

" _Then why did you ask in the first place?"_

Grimoire only growled and shot a middle finger at the ceiling before striding over to the coffee maker. "I'm probably going to regret this, but how did you turn a mad scientist's lab into a crater?"

"I already told you; I was defending my friends." She cracked her neck, earning herself an alarmed look from the vedalken. "Don't worry, that's normal."

" _Nothing_ about you has been normal so far."

"Okay, normal for me." Maera leaned back in her chair. "Basically, I was casting spells that were  _way_  beyond what I should've been using. I was drawing more mana than I could control at the time and throwing it around to help cover our allies' retreat."

"That doesn't sound very wise."

"It isn't. It's why I said I was being stupid." She replied. "There's this habit I've had for almost as long as I've been a mage; I'll feel out where my spellcasting limits are, and I'll dance around that edge in a fight. It's both why I'm so damned strong and why I tend to scare the piss out of people who aren't used to me." She paused. "For that matter, it scares the piss out of some people who are used to me..."

Grim sat back in his seat and pinned her with a  _look_. A look that said 'you are fucking insane'. "Oh, I can't  _possibly_  imagine why."

Maera tossed a wadded-up ball of paper (she'd been  _trying_  to fold an origami frog, but had given up when doing it one- and off-handed had proven too frustrating and she's crumpled it into a ball instead) at him. He deflected it with the coffee mug. "Anyway, my point is I know where my limit was." She picked her mug up and fiddled with the handle. "And, well...the people we'd been fighting were a bunch of maniacs being led by an even bigger maniac who wanted to first destroy the world, only to recreate it again so that nobody ever died."

"You sure this guy's been to Etrides?"

Maera barked a laugh. "No, doubt it. He's planesbound. Or was; his crazy plan kind of ended when he got his ass killed by a couple of the friends I mentioned who were fighting him in the first place." She gave a small shrug. "Happy ending, I guess. Anyway, his followers were, well...they were zealots. They saw him as a god, which fit the god complex he had. And as long as their boss achieved his plan, they didn't care if they got killed." She snorted. "Probably thought he'd bring them back from the dead when he remade everything."

"As a general rule of thumb, people like that aren't usually acting out of altruism."

Maera shook her head. "No, he wasn't. He just wanted to be a  _real_  god, rather than just acting the part of one." She went back to fiddling with her mug. "Anyway, because I knew my limit I knew I was crossing well past it. See, it's one thing to know the mechanics of spells beyond your skill, and it's another thing entirely to actually be casting it. It's something I make myself keep in mind when I go poking around arcane libraries."

"I can think of a few people who could learn a few lessons like that."

"Yeah, well, blasting a crater into the ground and throwing yourself into the Blind Eternities is a  _really_  good way to learn said lesson." Maera snarked. "Sooo I was well aware of how dangerous my spellcasting and mana-throwing-around was, but goddamn it these were my  _friends_  they were trying to kill. There were  _kids_  we were protecting, and if you think I'm not going to put myself between them and nihilistic psychos then you're out of your cotton-pickin'  _mind_." Her eyebrows dove down into a deep scowl. "I was not going to let them pass. Even if I turned myself into a living magical bomb in the process."

Grimoire was studying her, but didn't pipe up, so Maera continued. "Finally, push came to shove and I drove myself too far past my limits, and...well, something had to break and it was either me or my Spark."

_"Dammit Hellion! What the hell d'you think you're doing?!"_

_"Getting these kids_ _outta here!_ _"_

_"You're drawing too much mana! I can feel you from where_ _I_   _am! Stop it or you'll blow yourself up!"_

 _"It's either_ _that_   _or let these jackasses get through, and ain't_ _no_   _way in_ _HELL_   _I'm letting that happen!"_

"It was my Spark. Long story short, I ended up and Ravnica and another poor Planeswalker ended up being my landing pad. I don't think he's going to  _ever_  let me forget that, either."

Grimoire didn't speak right away. Instead, he remained silent as he let the story sink in. Finally, when he did speak, he was a straightforward and deadpan as the rest of his comments."

"Suddenly, I'm not so sure you should be allowed  _anywhere_ near  _anything_ explosive."

Maera laughed. "Too late. Things tend to blow up when I get pissed, and I very rarely need help from explosives." She replied. "Remind me to tell you the napalm story sometime."

"What the hell is the napalm story?"

Maera grinned as she swung her feet down to the deck and stood to get a fresh mug of coffee. "Let's just say that it involved napalm, dragon manure, and fire. And a catapult."

"...you've  _got_  to be joking."

"Nope."

Behind her, she heard a pained groan. " _No_. Just...no. You are  _not right_."

The grin was still on her face as she poured her cup. "Bro, if you've only just  _now_ realized this, you really don't know me that well."

"I'm starting to think that I don't  _want_  to know you that well." He was shaking his head as she turned back to him, leaning against the wall. "If you ever have kids, I worry for the Multiverse." Maera's grin widened. Grim blinked, then hung his head with another pained, pitiful groan. " _Why_. Why are you real."

She shrugged. "Blame my parents. They're the ones who had sex."

He made a sound somewhere between a gag and a retch. Maera almost had to put her mug down, or she'd spill coffee. "Ah, don't worry. You're taking my special brand of crazy better than most."

"Thanks, I think"

_"I'm not sure which of you I should worry about more. The crazy woman who blows things up, or Grim for that sound he just made. I think something died in you, boss."_

Grimoire kicked the console. "You're not helping."

_"You're just ungrateful."_

"Ungrateful my backside. You're annoying."

_"It's a talent of mine."_

Grim made a frustrated noise and rolled his eyes. Something pinged. "What the—?"

_"We're being hailed."_

"I know that.  _Who's_  hailing us?"

_"Looks like it's Ganneth's comm signal. Oh, hello."_

"What?"

 _"There's a ship ahead, must've just dropped out of FTL. Their engines are still not."_ Sleipnir answered.  _"Aaand that's where Ganneth's signal's coming from. Looks like they've just come from Saiyani, if I'm reading their direction right."_

Maera could see the tension drop out of Grim's shoulders. "Patch him through." He turned to Maera. "You're about to meet quite possibly the crudest person around."

Maera blinked at him. "You know Bels?"

Again, the deadpan stare. "What."

"Bels, if I may say, is the queen of the freaking sewer. Take a game of Cards Against Humanity—it's a game on Terrestiel, thought up by some dirty-minded Mundanes with a twisted and hilarious sense of humor—and put it into human form and you have Belinda Scale. She's not exactly shy on profanity and doesn't even know what a clean joke is."

Grimoire snorted. "Oh, you haven't met Ganneth." Maera sat in the other seat and crossed her legs. "Grimoire here. Ganneth, what're you doing out this far? We're still four days away."

_"I came t' give ye a lift. Yer not goin' like the news I got fer ya."_

Grim's brow creased in a frown. "What's that?"

_"Honestly, it's somethin' I'd rather tell ye in person. Don' want t' risk th' connection bein' hacked."_

"And you call  _me_  paranoid."

_"Just shut up n' git in the shuttle bay. Yer pain in the ass ship oughta fit."_

_"I take offense to that!"_

_"Yeah, yeah, shut up ya ol' tin can. Just git her butt in here so I kin explain what's goin' on. Grim, I hope ya have a high bullshit meter."_

_**-XXX-** _

**Zachar**  steepled his fingers, processing what Ganneth had just told him. The minotaur was sitting across from him in the mess, waiting for the reply. His perpetually-scowling face didn't betray much—other than the usual mild irritation—but his hands, worrying at the empty coffee mug, revealed his concern. "Well? What've ye gottern yerself inta?"

Zachar shook his head. "Too much is happening at once," he said, massaging his tattooed temple. He swore he felt the implant in it itching, but it'd been rendered inactive years ago. "If this is all a coincidence, I'll eat my coat."

"Yeah, I said th' same thing. Though I mighta used some differn't wording..."

Zachar gave the minotaur his best long-suffering look. "You probably told him to go do something anatomically impossible with his FTL drive."

"I'd say yer wrong, but..."

Zachar rolled his eyes. "You're a child."

"Meh. Bein' an adult's overrated anyway."

The vedalken rubbed his eyes, exasperated. And stressed. "First the Bleeders are going crazy over their 'prophecy', and now the Inquisitorium's put a price on both mine  _and_ Maera's heads."

"Kinda makes me glad I ain't one o' you  _planeswalkers._ Y'all attract too much trouble."

"Ganneth, I feel the need to point out that you don't need to attract trouble. You go  _looking_  for it."

"I get bored easy."

Zachar groaned. "My god. You're as bad as she is."

"Hey, I ain't ashamed of it. So what if some slave trader  _happens_  to be in th' same system, n' I  _happen_  to owe 'im a few  _'favors'_..."

Zachar held up a hand. "Stop. Right there. I just got over the ulcer  _that_  one caused." He pointed at Ganneth. "I may be a technomage, but I don't like to make a habit out of  _erasing official records_  to save your idiot ass."

"Hey, if it ain't on paper, it didn' happen. Least, s'far's the law's concerned."

Zachar groaned again. "One of these days, you'll get your balls caught in a legal vice, and I will  _not_  bail you out. I go off-plane and let you sort out your own mess for a change."

"Yeah, yeah. Ya said that th' last time too, and ye still bailed me out in th' end."

Zachar put his chin in his hand. "Yeah. Right." He played with the handle of his mug, ignoring the

gone-cold coffee inside. "How large is the bounty?"

"Quarter million creds, each. How many laws did ya break to get that landed on ya?"

Zachar let out a heavy breath. "None, to my knowledge." His eyes narrowed, gaze on the table. "Damn it all...I should've 'walked right away. Saved us all the trouble."

"Ya think she'd've been able to go with ye?"

Again, Zachar rubbed his temple. He made a motion halfway between a shrug and a headshake. "I have no idea."

Ganneth sat back in his chair and hummed, crossing his arms. And ye scold  _me_  about gettin' mah ass stuck in a bind."

"Shut up. I didn't try to tie a pirate in a knot and then replace the antimatter in his tank with green gelatin."

Ganneth grinned. Zachar sighed and facepalmed. "So. That's why you're doing this pickup." The minotaur nodded. "Thanks for the warning, in any case."

"What're ye gonna do?"

"Lie low. Hope they can stay away until I figure something out."

"Ya mind if I point somethin' out?"

"Go ahead."

"Ye shoud never've tried takin' down the Inquisitorium in th' first place." Ganneth's face was serious.

"Woulda been smarter just t' stay in n' do what ye could for us folks rather than fuck outta there. They wouldn't be lookin' fer ye if ya had." He paused. "Hell, woulda been even  _smarter_  not t've gotten mixed up in 'em in th' first place."

Zachar rubbed his eyes. "I know that  _now_." He said. "And before you say it, I was young and stupid." Even to his own ears it sounded like a weak excuse.  _Of course, it's not like I had many other choices, really...at least, none that I could see at the time._

"What're ye thinkin'?"

Zachar looked up at the minotaur. "Trying to figure out who I should hack first."

Ganneth raised an eyebrow. "Yer not serious."

"It's the best way to figure out what's got the Inquisitorium so stirred up."

"It's also a great way t' let them know where ya are."

Zachar gave him a sardonic smile. "You  _do_  remember who you're talking to, right?"

"Oh boy," Ganneth rolled his eyes to the overhead and shook his head. "Cyros forgive me, yer gonna go stickin' yer nose inta this mess."

"Damn right I am. If I'm going to have both the Inquisitorium  _and_  the Bleeders on my tail, I want to know  _why_."

"Ye'll get killed. Ye and yer new friend."

Zachar raised an eyebrow at his friend. "Ganneth, you  _know_  what I can do if they  _do_  try it."

Ganneth sighed, but nodded. "That don' mean it's any less dangerous."

"It's been dangerous ever since my parents were assassinated. It's only gotten more so since...well."

The minotaur sighed again and wiped a hand down his face. "I kin see I ain't gon' be able to talk ya outta this." he said, rising. "Jus' be careful, kid. Yer kickin' a bee's nest. Yer gonna get stung."

Zachar grunted. "I know."

Ganneth studied him for several moments, before he responded.

"I'm serious. Be careful, Zach."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to everyone for your kudos and reads. And if you liked it enough, feel free to leave a review ^^. Or don't, but they do feel rather nice to get.


	5. Space Nerd Phone Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maera touches base with friends, which summarily results in her getting a lecture by one Belinda Scale. Also, Grimoire witnesses the first death throes of his dignity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First: Thanks to the guests leaving kudos on this work ^^. It tells me that people're reading and enjoying it, and I'm glad :).
> 
> Second: Shout-out to GamerDragon13 on here. I borrowed her fanwalker Belinda Scale for this one. Mostly for lecturing Maera, in her charmingly foul-mouthed way. 
> 
> I do not own Magic: The Gathering or anything to do with it, yadda yadda yadda. If I did Etrides would be canon and would have its own actual set, and there would be SPACE LANDS.

**Chapter Five**

**Space Nerd Phone Home**

* * *

 

" **Feeling**  better, dearie?"

Maera flexed her hand and nodded. "Yeah, thanks." She told the aetherborn. "Mostly back to normal, anyway."

Tone sighed. "I really do wish I could do something to fix the other arm, but sadly even I'm not  _that_  good." They leaned back. "What did you even  _do_  to cause  _that_?"

Maera rubbed the back of her neck. She was getting sick of being asked that. "...pissed off an elder dragon."

They blinked. "...Seriously?"

"Yeah."

Tone cocked their head. "Wow. You  _really_  don't do things halfway, do you?"

Maera snorted. "I don't think the term 'halfway' is in my vocabulary."

"I can tell."

Maera stuck her tongue out at them. "I'm serious though. Thanks."

Tone shrugged. "No trouble. I try to make a habit out of being a decent person. Better payoff."

Maera's mouth quirked up at the corner. "I can think of a few people who could stand to take that particular class."

"I can sympathize." Tone crossed their legs. "Anyway, barring the missing arm, you should be good as new." They paused, and despite a mouth Maera felt them frowning. "However..."

Maera paused in pulling her jacket back on. The change in tone (pun  _not_  intended) wasn't lost on her. "What?"

Tone hummed, rubbing their chin. "Your magic. It's all...knotted up." They shrugged. "I'm not sure how best to describe it, honestly. It didn't feel at all right to me while I was healing you. Almost like something had caused your body to  _forget_  how to use magic."

Maera's gut twisted as they spoke. She didn't like that prospect, at all. Once again she felt the frustration return, and she told herself  _not_  to take it out on the one who'd just healed her frostbitten limb. And back. And shoulders. "...Probably explains why I can't draw mana."

Tone made an affirmative sound. "And fouls up any spells you try casting using what you've got in your internal stores." They nodded to her left—and remaining—arm. "And that frostbite is probably the best-case scenario you could've gotten off with."

Maera blinked at them. "You're joking."

"Sorry, but I'm not."

She gave them a slow blink. " _What."_

"You got off easy, hon. What you did, forcing that spell, could've gone a  _lot_  worse. If I were you, I'd try to figure out what's wrong with your mana lines before any more spellcasting."

Maera shrugged the jacket back on and sat back, running her hand through her hair. "Well. Scheiẞ."

" _Aw fuck_ _no!_   _NOPE! NO WAY! Ain't no way yer stickin' anythin' inta me!"_

Maera turned to the source of the yelling. Tone groaned. "Here we go again..."

Maera raised her eyebrows at them. "This always happen?"

"Ganneth's afraid of needles."

" _I ain't afraid o' hospitals! I just hate gettin' poked n' prodded!"_

Tone gave her a deadpan look. "He's also in denial."

" _I ain't in denial, ya skinny little—"_

" _Finish that sentence and I'll cold-cock your hooved arse!"_

" _I ain't gettin' any shots!"_

The minotaur entered and planted himself in the doorway, arms crossed and brows set in a deep scowl. "No. Way. In.  _Hell."_

Tone made a frustrated sound and stood. "The hell you aren't." They crossed their arms, mirroring Ganneth's posture. "You remember  _last_  year? When you caught the elven flu?"

"It wasn't  _that_  bad."

"You literally crapped a hole through the seat of your pants."

"I did not!"

"Would you like me to look up the holos? I remember X'vir took a few..."

Ganneth's glower deepened (Maera was surprised it was possible), then looked away, grumbling. Tone puffed up their chest in triumph. "I thought so."

"'At's blackmail. Cocky bastard."

"Damn right it is." They jerked their thumb to an empty chair. "Now sit down, shut up, and pull up your sleeve."

"I told you, I  _ain't—_ "

Maera leaned forward, clearing her throat. "Mind if I butt in?" She asked, holding up a finger. "Speaking as one who's had a couple bouts with the elven flu herself."

Ganneth turned his scowl to her. "What?"

"Just get the bloody shot. Avoiding a poke ain't worth the spewing from both ends."

Ganneth's eye twitched, and Maera swore she saw his face go from red to green. "...I think I just threw up a little in my mouth."

"If I had a stomach, I'd be sick to it."

She raised her eyebrow. "Well, it's either that or I'll sit on you."

Ganneth blinked at her, then looked to Tone. The aetherborn just shrugged and said, "If it'll get you to sit down for long enough, I'll let her."

The minotaur looked between the two of them, before sitting down in a vacant seat. Grumbling. "Fine. Just get it over with."

Maera rose. "I'll get out of your way, just in case he decides to run for it."

Tone waved a hand. "I'll be fine. You track down Grim; I've still got to get  _him_ in here, too."

"I'll let him know." Maera left, grabbing her messenger bag as she went. It'd been almost a week since the lift to Saiyani Spaceport, and for the half-faerie 'walker it had been one week-long geek fest.

Now, well...she was still geeking out, but it was less squeeing about being on an  _actual space station_  that was orbiting a  _gas giant_ , and more of a low-key background geek-out.  _If only I'd come under different circumstances. I'd probably enjoy sightseeing a lot more._

"Maera!"

She paused and looked behind her. It was Grim...and he had her phone. She let him catch up before continuing walking. "You fixed it?"

"Yes." He handed her the phone, and Maera turned it on. Sure enough, it powered up normally. Then she hugged him. "Um, what?"

"Thank you!" She gave the taller man a squeeze before letting him go, and he stood there blinking in bewilderment for a moment.

"...It's a phone. A simple thank you would have sufficed."

"It's also a lifeline right now," Maera replied as she unlocked the screen. "I can  _finally_ see if anyone knows what happened to the others."

"You know someone on Etrides?"

Maera shook her head. "No...this is the first time I've been to this plane."

"Then...how can you—oh. Not a chance." He pointed to her phone with an incredulous look. " _That_  antique?!"

"It's  _not_  an antique!"

"Maybe not where you're from."

Maera stuck her tongue out and scrolled through her contacts. "I'm friends with a few fellow Planeswalkers, one of which is from the same plane as I am. A few years ago I got the idea to see if it was possible to modify my cell phone to be able to call people on other planes." She explained, then shrugged sheepishly at the expression the vedalken was giving her. "It was an experiment, and honestly it doesn't always work. And, well, it'll only work if  _they've_  had their phone modified in the same way..."

Grimoire shook his head. "That doesn't sound possible..."

"It normally, ah...isn't." Maera bit the inside of her lip. "And I'm pretty sure I broke a few magical laws anyway."

"And you an artificer or something?"

"Yes, actually." She peered at him out of the corner of her eye. "Oi, don't give me that look."

"I'm not giving you any look."

"Yes, you are. You're giving me the look of 'I'm going to have nightmares about this now'."

"Probably because it's more than a little disturbing.  _You._  An  _artificer._  You  _do_  realize how terrifying a combination that is, right?"

"I'm well aware." She hit the dial button and put the phone to her ear. "Now shush. I'm calling Bels."

Grimoire held up his hands in surrender, but was thankfully silent as the phone rang. Maera was starting to think it'd go to voicemail when Belinda Scale picked up. " _The fuck're you doing? It's five in the fucking morning!"_

"Hello to you too, Bels." Maera deadpanned. "Good to know you're so concerned for my well-being."

" _I'd be a hell of a lot more concerned if you hadn't woken me up! Why'd you call me? What did you blow up?"_

Maera let out a frustrated breath and threw her head back. " _Why_  does  _everybody_  assume I blew something up?!"

" _Because it's_ _you_ _. You're like what happens when you throw the Cult of Rakdos and the Izzet League in a blender and hit the on button, only with added immaturity."_

"I feel so much better now, thanks."

" _Yeah, yeah. You still haven't told me why the hell you woke me up."_

Maera raised an eyebrow as she heard someone else—someone male—mumble something unintelligible on Belinda's end. "Something's telling me you were doing something  _other_  than sleeping."

" _That was earlier!"_

Maera laughed. "Right. Anyway, um." She looked around, even though she didn't have the phone on speaker and knew anyone wouldn't hear the other half of the conversation, but still. "Uhhh...how's things on Ravnica?"

" _Maera!"_

"All right! All right!" She cringed, bracing herself for the chewing out that was to come. "The Amonkhet thing kinda...sorta...maayyyyybe went to shit."

" _...You punched Bolas in the face again, didn't you?"_

"No I didn't!"

" _Bullshit!"_

"I'm serious!"

" _I still say bullshit! The fuck did you guys do, throw rotten tomatoes at him?!"_

Maera glared, wishing she could send the expression through her phone. Instead, she dripped sarcasm. "Throwing rotten tomatoes probably would've been more effective."

" _He fucked all you guys up, didn't he?"_

"Pretty much, yep."

" _You didn't even go in with a plan at all, did you?"_

"We had a plan!"

" _What was it?"_

"...Kill Bolas."

Silence. Utter silence. The silence on the other end of the phone was so complete that Maera  _swore_  she could actually  _hear_  her friend blinking in incredulity."

" _You went to Amonkhet. To find Bolas."_

"Yeah."

" _And then you took him on. With no other plan than_ _kill the fucking dragon?!_ "

"In my defense, it was mostly Gideon. The  _rest_  of us tried getting him to use his head first."

The ear-shattering silence returned, and Maera sensed that her friend was facepalming on her end.

Right before she blew her ear off.

" _You mean...you're telling me...that you went to Amonkhet, Nicol fucking Bolas's_ _fucking stronghold_ _, with no better plan than KILL THE FUCKING DRAGON?! ARE YOU A FUCKING IDIOT!?"_

"I wasn't the only one there!"

" _THEN YOU'RE ALL IDIOTS! Where's Jace? Where's Chandra? Where's_ _Gideon_ _?! I'm gonna THROTTLE HIS IDIOT THERAN—"_

Maera was holding the phone away from her ear, to spare her hearing the high-volume rant. Once she was certain her eardrums would be spared, she put the phone back and replied, "I...don't know where they are, actually."

Another pause. Then a sound reminiscent of a constipated moose came through the phone. Maera frowned. "Uh, Bels? ...You okay?"

" _Stupidity overload...stupidity overload...please wait while this idiot reboots..."_

Despite herself, Maera let out a snorting laugh. "You're taking this well."

" _Har har. 'Walk your ass back here so I can kick it. And then help me track down the rest of the Idiotwatch so I can kick their asses too."_

Maera felt her ears reddening. "Uhh...there's...kind of a small problem with that." She paused and bit her lip. "I...can't Planeswalk."

She heard a clatter. Welp.  _Good job, me. You broke Bels so much she dropped her phone._  A second of scrambling later, and the sounds of " _The fuck did you just say?!_ " were sounding in ear.

"I can't Planeswalk, Bels. Or cast spells in general."

"At least not without halfway killing yourself." Grimoire muttered beside her.

Maera stuck her tongue out at him as Belinda groaned  _again. "This isn't happening. This is_ _not_ _._ _Fucking_ _._ _Happening_ _. You did_ _not_   _just say you're stuck."_

Maera shrugged, cringing again. "I'd say I knew why, but I don't." She replied. "Best guess is when Bolas blew my arm off, he also fried something in my Spark that's fried my internal mana lines."

" _I'm sorry, but did I just hear you say_ _you lost an arm?!_ "

"Yes. Yes you did."

" _WHY. Why can't things go only_ _slightly_   _wrong, just once? Why is it that whenever things to wrong, it's_ _all of the fucking things?!_ "

"I would love to know, too. When you figure it out, please tell me."

Banging on the other end. Likely Belinda hitting her head against the headboard of hers and Karr's bed. " _Why did this have to happen when I'm fucking pregnant. Why."_  The woman grumbled something in draconic under her breath (Maera suspected several very unhappy and anatomically dubious things could go do with himself and/or the egg between his horns) before continuing. " _Okay. Okay. This isn't..._ _completely_   _fucked, though it's pretty damn fucked."_

"Blame Bolas."

" _Only because_ _everything_   _is his fault anyway. Or Urza's. Who's fucking dead."_  Another grumble. " _What plane are you on? I might be able to find someone there. Or send someone who knows where the place is."_

"Etrides. It's that space age plane I've been freaking out about wanting to visit."

Belinda laughed. " _Well, at least you wound up someplace fitting. Nerd."_

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

" _I say it because it's true."_

"Yeah, yeah."

" _Because I start trying to send people to rescue your ass, is there anything_ _else_   _I should know about? How many wasp nests have you thrown bricks at by now?"_

Maera cringed and exchanged a look with Grim, who only raised an eyebrow at her. "Uhh, two, but they kicked first and one was caused by a gone-around-the-bend-to-crazy-town pre-Mending 'walker, so that's not my fault because I didn't know that problem was there until it started shooting at us."

" _'Us'?"_

"A friend I've managed to make." Grimoire's mouth hung open as he gave her a horrified look. She smiled at him in return. "His name's Grimoire. Or, at least that's the one he goes by. He's vedalken." The vedalken in question facepalmed and groaned.

" _...Grimoire? Seriously?"_

"Shut up. I didn't pick it, it's the name he told me."

" _...I call bullshit, but okay."_

"Anyway, so, yeah. I can legitimately say this time it isn't my fault. So you can't yell at me over  _this_  one."

" _Whatever, crater girl."_  Belinda snarked. " _Anyway, I'll start calling around, try and get a couple people to where you are and haul you out of whatever mess you've managed to stir up."_  Maera opened her mouth to protest. " _Inadvertently or_ _not_ _. And then I'm going back to sleep. And I swear to the gods that if you wake me up again I'll send Karr to drag your ass back here so I can kick it."_

Maera heard a muffled mumbling over the phone that she interpreted as Karr saying something to the effect of "Keep me out of it" into the pillows. Followed by a soft  _fumph_ , likely Belinda swatting him with one of her pillows. "Any idea when I can expect help?"

" _Hopefully_   _sometime before whatever wasp nest you woke up decides to come haul ass on you. Now shut up so I can start making calls and hopefully get back to fucking_ _sleep_ _. Good night."_

"Right, seeya. And thanks." Belinda only grunted in reply before hanging up. "Well. She was in a great mood."

"I could hear her yelling  _through the phone._ "

Maera shrugged. "Crazy shit happens a lot."

"I gathered."

"Also, the great god Murphy seems to be our best friend." She shook her head and dropped her phone into her cargo pants pocket. "So much shit hits the fan around us that it's become a routine."

Grimoire shook his head, sighing. "Who the hell is 'Murphy'?"

"Murphy's Law. Aka, anything that  _can_ go wrong,  _will._ " Maera replied. "Now apply that on a Planeswalker scale, and you get the sorts of disasters we usually end up dealing with."

"Like pissing off an Elder Dragon in the center of his planar stronghold, and getting your arm blown off when he fries your Spark."

"Yeah. That." Maera shoved her hand into her pants pocket. "Ah, to be honest,  _that_  was a case of biting off way more than we could chew."

"No kidding."

Maera grunted. "So, where to from here?"

"Who says we're leaving?"

She peered at him. "Well, we can't stay here forever." She replied. "Hells bells, you said we've gotten a hefty bounty on our heads now, thanks to the Inquisitorium. Why the hell  _is_  that, anyway?"

Grimoire shrugged. "No idea. I'm going to be hacking their system, or trying to anyway. It shouldn't be as difficult as it could be, since I used to...be one of them."

"You still haven't really explained that part. I mean, I know you hated them because of your parents, but...still. You could've just gone after them  _without_  joining."

"Let's just say that it was my best idea at the time, and yes I know it wasn't the greatest."

"Noooo comment."

Maera peered at him again, but he didn't say anything else. Maera didn't pry.  _His business is his business. Not my place to go sticking my nose in. Been doing enough of that lately, anyway._

_Maybe while he's hacking into this plane's version of Section Thirty-One, I'll curl up with a book or a datapad or something and get caught up on some of this plane's history. It'll be nice to have a little more context about this latest nest of angry wasps._

It was a good thing she was a night owl.

_**-XXX-** _

" **P** rogenitor, we've located where the Messiah was taken."

He opened his eyes, meditation broken. "She wasn't taken."

"How do you know?"

"I know  _everything_." He rose, gliding fluidly to his feet. "Our Messiah wasn't taken. She went of her own will."

"I've already taken the initiative and told Indril where to look. The likeliest suspect seems to be Saiyani Spaceport."

"Did you tell him your assumption?"

"Well, no—"

"Good. Then it's less likely he'll screw things up."

"Progenitor? I'm sorry, but—"

He held up a hand, stopping the protest before it left the young man's mouth. "You were only doing what you thought was best. It isn't your fault you didn't know." He said. "Besides, Indril's an idiot. He'll be just as likely to take a wrong turn onto the Inquisitorium's doorstep as ending up at Saiyani. It's no matter; our Messiah will eventually come to us."

"How do you know?"

He folded his arms into the sleeves of his robe. "I just do." He said. "She has to, if she wishes to be able to leave."

The young follower was silent for a moment. "...As you say, Progenitor. I simply thought it appropriate that you know."

"I know. Now go back to your routine."

"...I'm not being punished?"

 _If you keep being dense you might be. I'm starting to get a headache._  "No. Now go."

"A-as you wish." the young man left, and he sighed in relief.

 _Finally._  He rubbed the bridge of his nose, head already pounding.  _The voices...they never stop. They have to_ _stop_ _._  He thought.  _Hopefully, reigniting my Spark will do that. Either that or kill me, but I'm game for anything as long as it gets all the voices in my head to_ _shut the hell up already._

He shivered. It was cold; he forgot to leave the heat on again. It had been so long without a  _physical_ body, he'd forgotten that he had to worry about things like that.

He strode to the wall and tapped a control. After upping the temperature (how had it even gotten turned down in the first place?), he opened his library. He'd been on this plane for so long, he'd become as much an expert on its technology and magic as a native.

Of course, part of that had come from inhabiting several hosts through the years. Not all of them successfully, but what could you do? Most of the lunatics that came to this 'cult' of theirs weren't particularly talented with magic. And even fewer of  _those_  could sustain a Spark—even a sealed one—for very long...

His eyes narrowed as the entry came up.  _Even after this long, you still find a way to meddle, you bastard. You fucking faerie bastard. You can't come yourself, so your descendant does it for you. Convenient._  He balled his hands into fists, then closed his eyes and took several long, slow, deep breaths.  _Calm down. You've waited two millennia, you can wait a few weeks longer. You don't need to be a god in order to be patient._

He reopened his eyes and dismissed the entry. He closed his library and strode to his bedroom, tossing his robe over a chair as he went.  _I need to get some sleep. And then probably get laid; it's been too damn long since I last had some good, mindless, sex. With several people. At once._  He paused.  _...Okay, maybe not_ _that_ _. I'm not sure I remember how everything works._

He cracked his neck and stretched as he entered his bedroom. He flopped face-first on the mattress, not bothering to either turn on the lights or put on pajamas.  _That_   _will have to wait until tomorrow, though. Give my brain a day off; besides, the redirection of this plane's mana won't happen overnight._  A slow smile spread over his face.  _And with any luck, from there, I'll finally be able to re-iginte my Spark, and leave._

_And find myself some Eternities-damned peace!_


	6. Arrest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet some more characters, as well as yet /another/ side to the trouble brewing in Etrides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all who've read this insane fic ^^. And double-thanks to an IRL friend of mine who pointed out the spelling errors, hopefully sending them through Google Docs has fixed /most/ of the bloopers. I have no idea why the spellchecker on OpenOffice is borked, just that it is. If there's still spelling bloopers, let me know ^^;
> 
> The usual disclaimer; I don't own Magic: The Gathering or anything else WoTC. If I did not only would I still write this, but Etrides would be an actual plane. With Space Lands. Because SPACE.

**Chapter Six**

**Arrest**

* * *

 

" **So,**  this Nasala's your girlfriend?"

Zachar felt the back of his neck coloring. He didn't need to look at Maera to know that she was prodding him for her own amusement, and the snicker confirmed it. "She is  _not_  my girlfriend."

"Then why're you blushing?"

_Because you're being_ _you_ _._  "Nothing." He crossed his arms. "Her clan's part of a nomadic convoy, one that my friends and I are on good terms with."

Maera raised an eyebrow. "Impressive?"

Zachar grunted. "You could say that. Let's just say that her people are a little...reclusive."

"Uh-huh. Reminds me of someone else I know."

Zachar rolled his eyes. "Whatever..." He peered at her. "When did Belinda say she was sending reinforcements again?"

Maera shrugged. "She probably started calling around the morning she woke up, after that little conversation." She replied. "Chances Are, either someone we know's been to Etrides, or someone we know knows someone who has." She waved her hand. "It's a big network of people who know each other. If you can't get in contact with someone directly, chances are one of the 'Walkers you know can."

Zachar knitted his eyebrows at her. "That doesn't seem like a very efficient system."

Maera shrugged. "Eh. Doesn't sound like it no, but it works surprisingly well. Granted, we're still working out the kinks of this grapevine, but so far we've developed this big, inter-planar web of connections that can make it pretty damn quick to get to someone on just about any plane."

"In practice or in theory?"

Again, she shrugged. "Little bit of both, I guess. There's plenty of Nope Planes out there." A beat. "Granted, a plane is still a  _big_  place. Even if you get someone there, it's a toss-up as to whether or not they'll actually end up where the person is. Aiming a Planeswalk is kinda hard."

Zachar grunted. In his experience that was true enough. "I've found it's easier to 'Walk to a place you're familiar with, rather than someplace you've never been too."

"Exactly. Which is probably why I'm so good at landing on Jace's doorstep on Ravnica; I spend half my time there, anyway."

Again Zachar's eloquent reply was a grunt. He checked his watch."

"You seem impatient."

"Eh." He nodded to the airlock. "With any luck, they should be here any moment—" On cue, said airlock started cycling open. "Well."

Shortly after, the hatch opened and a familiar figure stepped out. She had alabaster skin, slightly pointed ears, light gray eyes, and white hair pulled back in a ponytail; she was kor. Seeing Zachar, she grinned. "Figured you'd be here. How's the others?" She held out her hand.

Zachar smiled back and gripped Nasala's forearm, giving it a squeeze to match the one he got from her. "They're doing fine. Tone almost had to cold-cock Ganneth to get his flu shot. Again."

Nasala rolled her eyes. "Not surprised." She released his forearm and gave him a hug. "I'm glad you're alright, though. When you mentioned the pirates—"

"They didn't do any irreversible damage." Zachar replied, returning the hug before extracting himself and nodding to Maera. "Anyway, this is the crazy person I mentioned."

To her credit, the faerie didn't seem insulted by this at all. In fact, she seemed to revel in being called 'the crazy person'. She held out her hand and chirped, "Maera Hellio. Half faerie, battlemage, artificer and equal-opportunity asshole."

Zachar groaned and rolled his eyes to the overhead. Nasala laughed. "Nasala Dermen. I've known Grim for, well..." she eyed him out of the corner of her eye. "...let's just say that I remember when he was gangly, awkward, and always tripping of the swim fins he called feet."

"To be fair, puberty has  _long_  since finished and my feet no longer look like they were stolen from a giant."

Maera raised an eyebrow at him. "Oh,  _this_ I gotta hear about."

" _No."_

Nasala smirked, and Zachar  _knew_  that his dignity was going to be taking a nosedive in the near future.  _Of course._  "he was wearing size eleven shoes back when he was twelve. His feet looked ridiculous."

Maera gigglesnorted, covering her mouth with her hand. "You know, they say guys with big feet..."

" _Shut up."_

"Your ears are turning purple. So's the rest of your face."

"You're children."

" _You're_  taking yourself too seriously."

"I am  _not._ "

"Uh, I haven't known you for as long as Nasala has, buuuut..." Maera shrugged. "You really are acting like you've got something clenched up your ass. You'll give yourself a hernia if you take yourself seriously all the time."

"Is that why you don't take yourself seriously  _at all?"_

"Yep!" The faerie grinned. "There's a special kind of zen that comes from not taking yourself seriously and giving absolutely no fucks."

"That would explain the toenail trimmings you left on the mess table."

"I cleaned them up. It ain't my fault my feet are gunk central." She waved her hand in front of her face. "Anyway. I'm guessing you've got quite a bit of pull in your convoy."

Nasala shrugged as they started down the hall, heading towards the main thoroughfare. "It's more like I know the right people." She replied. "My cousin's one of the clan leaders in the convoy, so he's where the go-ahead to pick you guys up came from."

"That, and Ganneth, Tone, X'vir and I are honorary members." Zachar added, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Which, considering kor culture, isn't a small thing."

Maera was nodding. "I believe it." She said. The woman looked like she wanted to say something else, but stopped awkwardly, biting her lip.

Nasala raised her hand. "I already know about Planeswalkers." She pointed to Zachar. "Found out when this idiot reappeared out of nowhere with ruined clothes, a dislocated shoulder, broken ribs, more cuts and scrapes and bruises than a barroom brawler, and half his hair missing."

"Please tell me he didn't land on you while you were sleeping."

Nasala snorted. "Gods no. Thank goodness."

"I  _thought_  I'd 'walked into an unused supply closet. I was wrong." Zachar added, rubbing a spot on the back of his head. "Got a wrench to the head for my trouble."

"I made him explain." Nasala said. "It's also how Ganneth, Tone, and X'vir found out. Ganneth almost had a mental meltdown."

"Hey, he came around eventually. No psychotic breaks had to be dealt with, just Ganneth wondering if I was part tentacle abomination for a while." He made a face. "I'm not sure if he doesn't still think that, honestly..."

Maera visibly deflated. "Thank fuck." She said. "Makes things less complicated."

"That could be debated."

She snorted in reply."

Zachar rolled his eyes. "Anyway, how long are you going to be docked?"

"About a week, give or take." Nasala replied. "We're mostly stopping to take on supplies, trade information, and pick up a few passengers. Like you guys." She nodded to him and Maera. "Quarters for you all have already been set aside, and there's space reserved for  _Sleipnir_  in  _Setasra's_  hangar bay. Just try not to be late to disembark, I don't know how long we'll wait."

Zachar nodded. "Thank you, Nasala. I don't think I want to know how many strings you had to pull."

The kor woman waved a hand, dismissing it. "It's not a problem, Grim. For you, I'd wade through lava." She said. "Same with Tone, X'vir, and even that pain in the ass Ganneth."

"Just don't go after him with a hypospray. He'll probably shriek. And run away." Maera piped up.

Zachar snorted and Nasala laughed. "Did Tone have to cold-cock him again?"

"No. I just threatened to sit on him."

"Is that something you  _usually_  do?"

The half-fae shrugged. "Only when someone's being  _particularly_  obnoxious. And I've done it, too; it pays to be built like a tank." Zachar blinked at her. Maera frowned. "What?"

"A...tank? You?" He held out his hand in front of his chest, about level with the top of her head. "You seem kind of...short."

Maera stopped. Nasala looked away, humming. Zachar shot her a look. "What?!"

"Oh, nothing. I can just sensed when you've poked a hornet's nest, and judging by the color her ears are turning you  _really_  did it."

Zachar glanced back to Maera, and he swore her ears were smoking. "I. Am not.  _Short."_  She ground out. "I am five-foot-three!  _That ain't freakin' short!"_

"Um. You're shorter than Nasala."

The kor put her hands up in front of her. "Hey, leave me out of this. I don't want to get hit by the anger tsunami."

Zachar flipped her off as his reply. "I can rest my elbow on your head."

Maera put her hand on her hip. "Five-three is  _average height_. You're just abnormally tall."

"'Average height' my rear end. I've seen you literally having to  _jump_  to reach something. You're short."

" _I'm not short you scrawny blue string bean!"_

He crossed his arms and glowered down at the woman, ears warming as he heard Nasala snickering behind him. "On what world?"

"On the same world where I'm related to a bunch of abnormally tall people!"

"Oh~! Do I hear a lovers' quarrel?"

Zachar groaned and rolled his eyes. "Hello, X'vir." He deadpanned.

Maera responded with a squawk. Then tossed an empty snack box from a nearby table at him. The Azeran just ducked and grinned, ears twitching. "Hey, I'm joking." he said. "Yo, Nasala. Have they started throwing punches yet? Should I get some snacks? Call Ganneth?"

Nasala smiled, but shook her head. "Not yet." She replied. "Anyway, Grim. You said you were going to explain what went down in person. I'm guessing Ganneth and Tone know?"

Zachar nodded. "So does X'vir." He nodded to the diminutive alien, who'd perched himself on the back of a chair. "And I figured that since I was calling in the favor from you, it makes sense that you not be left in the dark about it."

"And it's sensitive enough that you thought it'd be best explained in person." Zachar nodded. Nasala blew out a breath and ran a hand through her hair. "What did you piss off?"

"Take a guess."

The kor cringed. "Not again..." She shook her head. "You  _do_  realize you can just  _leave_ , right?"

"And I'm not leaving Etrides with them loose."

Maera jabbed a thumb at him. "I've tried this argument with him, too. I'm guessing it didn't work for you guys either."

"Ever since we found out he was a Planeswalker," Nasala sighed. "Aaannnd the stubborn idiot still hasn't gotten the memo."

"So sue me for caring about you idiots."

X'vir looked at his watch. "Ganneth and Tone're late. You think Ganneth's managed to break something since yesterday?"

"Doubtful." Zachar pulled a chair out from the table X'vir was at and straddled it. He powered up his gauntlet and his eyes shined blue as the holographic screen appeared in the air in front of him. He murmured a spell under his breath and traced a series of runes on the screen. The familiar tingle of magic ran over his skin, and he felt the the hairs on the back of his neck stand up straight as the spell spread out around them. "We shouldn't be overheard now. Got a dampening field up."

Nasala nudged X'vir with her elbow. "That means no yelling at the top of your lungs."

The Azeran stuck his tongue out at her. "Hey, I'm obnoxious. Not an idiot."

"Uh-huh. Right."

"Oh come on!"

Zachar sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Eternities help me..."

"Grim, mind if I give you a piece of advice?" Maera placed a hand on his shoulder.

"What?"

"Just embrace the crazy. Your sanity will thank you."

"Oh,  _I've_  embraced the crazy. My common sense just hasn't caught up yet."

" _Suuure._ " She checked her watch, frowning. "What time did you say Ganneth was meeting us?"

"16:00." He checked his own chrono and frowned. The other two were late. He felt the hairs on his arms stand up in warning. "Something's gotten them held up."

"You sure Ganneth's not just constipated?" That was X'vir.

Zachar shook his head, slowly rising from his chair. He drew aether, the magic building at the back of his mind in preparation for a fight.  _It's probably nothing. Wouldn't be the first time Ganneth fell asleep when he was_ _supposed_   _to be somewhere._  His paranoia though was screaming that it was something less harmless than the minotaur's absentmindedness.

The paranoia was confirmed when the man in black appeared out of nowhere. He clipped a small device to his belt; a personal cloaking device. His clothing, a black leather jacket over a black turtleneck and matching trousers, had no insignia. Zachar recognized his type anyway.

_Inquitorium._

The man brushed imaginary dust off his uniform. "You are Zachar Urin, correct?"

Zachar's face hardened. Nasala had stepped away from the table, moving herself into a position that left her path clear of any obstacles. X'vir had hopped off his chair and his hand close to his blaster. Maera hadn't moved position, but her back was ramrod straight and her hand resting easily on the hilt of her sword. His hands moved to rest close to his daggers. "None of your business."

"I have evidence to the contrary." The man's tone didn't change, but his calm demeanor didn't hide the ice from the vedalken. "I assume your response means an affirmative."

Zachar chewed the inside of his lip. He already knew the answer, but he asked anyway. "Who the hell are you?"

"None of your concern," The man replied as he pulled on a pair of black gloves. "You and one Maera Hellion are under arrest, by order of the Inquisitorium."

So they weren't using the "official" law enforcement as a screen. Alarm bells went off in Zachar's brain. "Why?"

The man paused, and Zachar could see him debating whether or not it would be worth it to give the reason. "You've been labeled a potential threat to Confederation security." He replied finally. "I've been sent to bring you in for evaluation. I assure you that once any innocence is confirmed you will be free to leave."

_'Free to go' my behind. He isn't fooling anyone._  "And if I think you're full of crap?"

"Then I'll have to use force, but I'd rather not. The paperwork would be a nightmare, but you already know about that, I'm sure." He stepped forward, folding his hands behind his back. "I repeat; you are under arrest, by order of the Inquisitorium. Come with us peacefully and things will be far less difficult."

"I'd think you'd need more charges than just 'potential threat', boyo." Maera snarked from next to and slightly behind the vedalken. "Pretty sure it's illegal to arrest someone just for suspicion."

The man's face soured. Zachar had to admit that he was impressed; it hadn't taken her very long to read up on Confederation laws. "You're not wrong, I'll give you that much."

"Great. Then come back with a warrant."

"I'm sorry, but I can't exactly do that." The man said with a sigh. "You see, you've already been declared enemies of the state. As have anyone allied with you. I don't  _have_  to be carrying a warrant to arrest you, my word is enough."

X'vir shifted uncomfortably. Zachar didn't like where this was leading. "This wasn't approved by the Senate, was it?"

"That is none of your concern. I am simply here to do my job."

Zachar's grip tightened on the dagger's hilt, but he didn't activate the rune on it. Yet. "Unless I see a warrant, I'm not going anywhere with you. Nor are the others."  _The promenade's too empty. I don't like it._

The man studied him for a moment, then sighed. "Have it your way, then." He snapped his fingers, and the air around them shimmered as cloaks were disengaged. Suddenly, the quartet was surrounded by armed—and armored—black-clad security forces, all decked out in the same stealth black as their commander. "I was hoping to avoid the paperwork."

Zachar backed up, him and the other three forming a box as they went back-to-back-to-back. "When I say run, break for it." He muttered.

X'vir nodded. Nasala simply blinked, and Maera grunted her assent from behind him. He heard a  _snick_  as she made sure her sword was clear in its sheath.

The man raised a hand. "One last chance to come quietly, Mr. Urin."

Zachar set his face in a scowl. "You know where you can put those words."

He sighed. "Fine." He snapped his fingers. "Take them in."

The stealth-clad security closed in. Zachar waited until the last second before giving the signal. " _Run!"_

The promenade exploded into action.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /Space kor!/ I couldn't resist, I really couldn't. I've been a bit of a fan of kor since the first Zendikar block, so I guess it was inevitable they ended up a part of Etrides.
> 
> Like I said before, if there's any more spelling bloopers please let me know. I think Docs fixed all of them, but I still might've missed something.
> 
> And as always, reviews are desired but not required. They're a great way to make an author happy though.


	7. Ouch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisitorium are kinda assholes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to any readers, and I apologize for the lateness of the chapter. Murphy's Law doesn't like to leave me the hell alone.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Magic: The Gathering or anything else by Wizards of the Coast. Y'all know the drill if I did.

**Maera**  bolted, kicking the legs out from under one of the blaster rifle-toting, SWAT-team-looking man as she went. He went down hard with a yell of surprise, cut short by a swift kick to the back of the head. He collapsed.

Then she was back on the run, pulling up a map of the station on the HUD of her eyepiece. She was heading in the direction of where she and the others were crashing at the moment, but that wasn't her destination; that was the hangar bay where  _Sleipnir_  was undergoing the last few repairs. Technically the ship was ready for launch, but there were still a few minor things that Grimoire (the goons' boss had called him Zachar, and Maera assumed that was either his real name or the name he'd given the Inquisitorium) was working on getting back up to his standards. But for all intents and purposes the annoying, AI-run ship was at 100% and ready to fly.

She figured that's where the others were going to go, too.

Maera saw movement out of the corner of her eye, and in a second she had her sword drawn and knocking away a transparent, glasslike saber. She planted her foot and pivoted, bringing Icefire around in front of her and pointing towards her attacker.

He grinned, bright white teeth shining. "We meet again, Miss Messiah." He said, giving her a salute with his sword. "You look much healthier than last time. It becomes you."

Maera groaned and rolled her eyes.  _Not Captain Fashionably Challenged_ _again_ _._  She thought in annoyance.  _Didn't he learn his lesson the first time?_  "You're pretty dense, ya know that?"

"One could argue that 'dense' and 'determined' are two sides of the same coin."

"Ehh...not really."

He shrugged. "I was sent to retrieve you."

"That's what you said  _last_  time."

He tilted his head. "Ah, but this time I have better help on my side." He responded. "And this time, I will not fail to bring you home."

Inwardly, Maera groaned again. "Unless your home also has pizza, my bed, and the Internet, then I have no interest in it." She deadpanned. "Go away. Before I freeze you to a wall. Again."

"I don't think you can pull that off a second time." He took a stance, holding his saber in front of him. "I could see the pain on your face on the ship. I doubt you'll be able to pull that trick off again."

Maera's mouth went into a thin line. "Then we'll just have to find out, won't we?"

Captain Fashionably Challenged hummed. "I suppose." He replied, and charged forward.

Maera caught his blade on her own, grunting with the effort of holding him off. She wasn't used to fighting one-handed, and the amount she recoiled from the attack showed it. Having to use her off-hand didn't help matters any. Twisting out of the attack, she pivoted around on her back foot, swinging the katana around to take out his wrist.

He grabbed her hand easily, stopping the strike cold. "You'll have to do better than that, my dear." He said. "One could mistake it for murderous intent."

Maera glared at him. A muscle worked in her jaw. "I don't kill."

He hummed. "I can tell." He let her go, bringing an elbow in towards her temple. She blocked it with her forearm, realizing too late that it left her side wide open.  _Shit!_

Her opponent smirked, and Maera's side suddenly erupted in fiery pain as a small blade was driven in. Hissing, she pulled herself away to minimize the damage, biting off the oath on her tongue. Again she reset her stance, only to again go immediately on the defensive as he drove his saber hard against her katana. The woman gritted her teeth and shifted her grip to a backhand hold, before breaking the lock and landing a solid  _crack_  against his cheekbone with the butt of the hilt. She felt and  _heard_  the bone give, and he hissed an oath of his own as he stumbled back.

Maera didn't let the momentary opening pass. While he was swearing about the broken cheekbone, she drove a steel-toed foot  _hard_  into his crotch, eliciting yet another yowl of pain—this one far more high-pitched, and far less concerned with winning the fight. As he instinctively curled in on himself, the woman smashed her knee into his face, getting another satisfying  _crack_  as another bone in his face broke.

Something tingled in the back of her mind, and Maera didn't bother waiting to see how long it took Captain Fashionably Challenged to recover from the broken face and busted nuts. She backed up, heading back the way she'd come to circle back with a different route. She sheathed her sword as she went, unable to shake the feeling that something was going wrong with Grimoire's escape.

**-XXX-**

**Zachar**  ducked under the blaster fire, running a thumb over the rune on the dagger's hilt. The blade sprang to life on it and its twin, which he had in a backhand hold in his left hand. As the charges were resetting on the rifles, he shot from his cover and ran at the leader of the goon squad, instincts from his years as the Inquisitorium's unofficial assassin kicking in.

Only this time, they were being directed at  _them_ , rather than some stranger they deemed 'high-risk'. Call it poetic justice.

He swung his left arm around, a feint. The man in black fell for it, holding up an armored hand to block, leaving him open for the actual attack. Quickly, his right hand jabbed forward, the blade of the dagger finding the seam in his coat and driving into his shoulder. The agent swore, grabbing for the offending dagger to pull it out, but Zachar was already out of arm's reach. He scowled at him. "I see your skills haven't rusted."

"Shut up, Evran. You just stink at combat."

The man's nostrils flared. "I'm giving you a chance to make this easy. If you do, it'll be a chance to come back and wipe the slate clean. But here you are, stabbing me in the shoulder." His voice was matter-of-fact. "I should be insulted."

Zachar flipped him off. "That's what I think of your being insulted."

Evran pressed a hand to the wound. It was bleeding, but not quickly; if Zachar remembered correctly, the man had been 'amped', or had his body altered so wounds he took would heal faster than an ordinary human. Or elf, or vedalken, or kor, or merfolk...or ordinary anyone, really. It was one of the 'perks' that came with working for Inquisitorium.

Of course, not  _all_  of those modifications were legal...

Zachar didn't see the blaster bolt heading for the center of his back.

" _Get down!"_

Someone with very long hair and going at a speed similar to a runaway truck slammed into Zachar's side, bowling him to the ground. He hit, hard, right as the bolt screamed through the air where he'd been standing a moment before.

Right towards Evran.

The man's eyes went wide, and he slammed a command into his wrist computer. A gold shimmer wrapped around his body, just in time for him to get slammed into the nearest table by the stray bolt. The shield lit up red as it took the damage, rather than a hole burning through Evran's chest. Regardless, he was still  _very_  unhappy.

For that matter, neither was Zachar. He pulled himself to his feet, hauling his rescuer up with him.

It was Maera...which explained the massive amount of hair. The first thing that came to mind was,  _She wasn't kidding when she said she was built like a tank._

The second was,  _Wait; is that_ _blood_ _?_

"A 'thank you' would be nice." The woman ground out, rolling to her knees and pressing a hand to the wound in her side. "Not too big on manners, are you?"

"Not when I'm getting shot at." He approached and tried prying her hand away from the wound. "You're bad at following directions."

She shooed his hand away and stood. "When my gut says things're about to go sideways, I like to listen. Usually it's right." She said, scanning the area with narrowed eyes. "Aaand it's still giving me that feeling. Didn't he have more goons?"

Zachar retrieved his daggers and reactivated them with a touch of the runes. "Some of them went after Nasala and X'vir."

"You don't sound very worried."

"I'm more worried than I look, don't worry." Zachar replied, holding the daggers loosely at his sides. "But they're not missing arms. Or bleeding."

Maera snorted. "I'm used to being outnumbered."

Zachar raised an eyebrow. "Really."

She stuck her tongue out at him, then spun on her heel and drove her fist into an armored gunman coming up behind her. She hit his facemask so hard that her fist  _literally broke the mask._  Zachar's eye twitched. "The hell. Is wrong. With you."

"I'm mad."

"I got that. Do you usually react to things that annoy you with violence?"

"Yes. Killing shit in video games is my go-to therapy."

Zachar nodded slowly, giving the groaning man on the ground a worried look.  _By the Eternities...she's a walking ball of anger._

" _Zachar! Stop watching your girlfriend pound peoples' faces in and pay attention to what's in front of you!"_

 _Sleipnir_  shouting in his ear jerked him back to reality, just in time to put his gauntleted arm in the path of a low-powered blaster bolt. Evran was standing again, readjusting the power setting on his blaster and looking annoyed. "And  _this_  is why I told her I didn't need backup. They're idiots."

Zachar flipped his daggers into a backhand grip. "I thought you wouldn't complain if your target was dead."

Evran grunted. "Not in this instance. You can't face consequences if you're a corpse." He aimed the blaster. "Now hold still so I can get a clean shot..."

 _Hells no._  Zachar did exactly the opposite. He charged forward, driving his shoulder into the man's diaphram. Evran looked more surprised at the attack than angry, and Zachar used that to his advantage to get the man into a pin. He drove his knee into his chest and held his wrists above his head. He pressed a dagger to the man's jugular. " _Why are you here?!"_

"You're abnormally upset. This isn't the first time you've been cornered by us, after all. I'm surprised you haven't  _left_  yet."

"Shut up." Zachar snarled. He ignored the sounds of grunts being put to the ground in very painful ways. "You've had two of my friends arrested. And I  _know_  that if this was just another attempt to bring me back in, they wouldn't have sent someone as high-ranking as  _you_."

"You've eluded us for a long time, Zachar. You're high on our hit list."

"Damn good thing I've got a few tricks  _you lot_  don't, then."

Evran sneered. "All the tricks in the world won't help you. Once you're part of the Inquisitorium, you're  _always_  part of the Inquisitorium."

Zachar pressed the dagger harder into the man's neck, hard enough for blood to bead along the blade. "I seem to have left easily enough."

"You only left because you were  _allowed_  to leave." Evran's sneer was still in place, seemingly unconcerned with the blade cutting into the skin of his neck. "We don't let our people go without a  _reason._  Don't you think it's suspicious that in all your time in the Inquisitorium, especially given your  _job—_ "

" _I'm not a killer!"_

"You seem pretty intent on becoming one right now."

"Probably has something to do with the fact that I  _hate your fucking guts."_

Evran tsked. "You're losing your cool, Zachar. It isn't like you. And it'll come back to bite you in the ass one of these days."

"As long as you go down first."

The man raised an eyebrow. "Oh, well. Looks like you'll just have to learn the hard way."

Zachar was opening his mouth to reply when the tattoo around his eye lit up in white-hot fire. He screamed, dropping his blades and releasing the grip he had on Evran as he put his hands to his face, the area around his eye socket  _burning_. He fell sideways, eyes screwed shut in pain. It didn't take very much effort on Evran's part to turn the tables.

 _Damn...I thought I'd deactivated it..._  Zachar thought throughthe pained haze. His sight was blurred from the pain coming from the tattoo, but he could see well enough to reach for his dagger.

A booted foot slammed down on his hand, and he swore. Loudly. "You were  _allowed_  to leave, old student." Evran's voice sounded echoey in Zachar's pained head, but it was still clear. The other boot slammed down on his back, pinning his other arm behind him and blowing the air out of his lungs. "And now it's time to bring you back to face the consequences."

Zachar craned his neck, twisting uncomfortably to see Evran's face. It was blurry from pained tears, but he could still see that sneer. "Piss...off."

"Tell that to the adjutant." The steel toe of Evran's boot rushed to meet Zachar's face.

Then it was dark.

**-XXX-**

**Maera**  froze when she heard Zachar scream. The moment of hesitation earned her a close-range blaster bolt to the shoulder.

" _Scheiẞ!"_  Her hand went to the burn, and she could already feel her skin blistering, accompanied by the smell of burning flesh. She gagged, and cursed herself for dropping her sword.  _Need to pay better attention._

The armored enforcer went to secure the katana, but Maera drove her knee up into his face and grabbed it before his boot did, his nose making a satisfying  _crunch_. She retrieved her sword and gave the goon a  _thwack_  on the back of the head with the hilt, and he stopped moving. Then she looked around, surveying what still needed dealing with.

Not much. The two goons who had remained when the others scattered were either out cold, or nursing body parts that had been violated by the angry mage.  _Well. And Darren always said I was a klutz without spells in a fight._  She scanned the area, looking for the third member of the remaining goon squad.

She found him. Fastening a pair of cuffs around the wrists of one very limp-looking vedalken.

Her face darkening into a scowl, she snarled as she charged the man. She brought Icefire down in a slash across her front, aiming to bisect his chest. Or it would've, if he hadn't disappeared before the blow landed...taking Grimoire with him.

"Don't worry; your turn's next."

She turned to the speaker's voice—the commander of the goons—swinging her sword around to slash at him. She stopped with the tip of the blade barely poking his nose.

To his credit, he didn't flinch. If anything, simply looked amused.

"If you think a strip of sharpened steel is enough to scare me, then you're overestimating yourself."

Maera's grip on the blade tightened, but she didn't lower the blade. She stared the man in the eyes, not about to move until  _he_  did.

He held her gaze, his own eyes...dead. She couldn't see any indication of what he might be thinking, any intention...only a pair of dead, cold gray orbs. His sandy hair was slicked back from his face, a broken crescent tattoo tracing his right eye socket. Just like Grimoire's.

It wasn't hard to put the pieces together. "You used to work with Grim."

"That didn't take you long."

"I may do stupid shit, but I'm not an idiot."

He raised an eyebrow. "One could argue differently. For example, sticking a sword in an assassin's face doesn't strike me as particularly bright."

"I don't do subtlety."

"I can tell." A beat. "You're either very brave or very hardheaded. Most sensible people would be at least a little intimidated when facing someone who kills for a living."

"Bitch, my best friend is head of an inter-planar assassins' union. I haven't just face assassins in a fight before, I'm friends with a few. You don't scare me."

"Then pray tell, what does?"

"None of your business." She drove the blade forward...

...only for the man to grab her wrist and stop her attack. Cold.

"Friends with assassins, huh? You could stand to learn a thing or two." He twisted her wrist.  _Hard_. She heard the wet  _crunch_  of cracking bones.

Followed by the searing  _pain_  of a broken bone.

She screamed. And swore. And screamed. And took out some of the pain on his shin.

He retaliated by shoving her against the wall, an electrified blade in his hand and at her throat faster than she could think. She was gasping, but he wasn't even breathing hard. "Young girl, you need to learn a few things about fighting." He hissed. "First lesson: never hesitate.  _Always_  go for the kill."

Maera kicked at his knee. He pressed the blade closer to her jugular.

"Second:  _never_  run in screaming. Especially when someone you know gets felled." A beat. "Third lesson: there's no such thing as a friend in a fight.  _Everyone_  is fair game."

Maera grit her teeth and scowled. She could feel blood beading at the shallow cut. She bit the inside of her cheek out of pain from her wrist. "Piss...off..." She hissed.

The man cocked an eyebrow. "Didn't hear that, sorry."

Her scowl deepened. "Piss. Off."

"A little louder, please. I think you're having trouble speaking with my elbow in your windpipe."

Maera snarled, " _Piss off!"_  and slammed her fist into the assassin's face. A fiery line of agony streaked its way up her arm, but his face made the same wet  _crack_  sound her wrist had.

It was just a little bit satisfying.

He broke the hold, more out of surprise than anything. Biting hard again down on her tongue, she grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him forward, headbutting him as hard as she could.

Her ears rang. Judging by the way  _his_  eyes were crossing, so were his.

Good.

She aimed a roundhouse kick for his head. It  _almost_  connected. He put his hand between his face and the heel of her boot at the last minute, and used the leverage to flip her onto the ground, planting a knee in her back. She heard the familiar sound as a blaster powered up, right at the base of her skull. "Mr. Urin I had to take alive. Technically, I don't have to do so with you."

It wasn't the first time Maera had gotten a death threat. Far from it; hell, the MAA had even gotten a few contracts asking for a hit on a certain half-faerie Planeswalker who'd fouled up some pretentious, stuffy douchebag's plan. Some of them she'd even gotten a laugh out of, when Bels showed them to her.

So, that wasn't what scared her.

What  _did_  scare her was that  _this_  time, there wasn't a whole lot she could do about this man blowing her head clean off. Instinctively she was reaching for mana, but...

...Nothing was there. The part of her brain that directed magic to her will was cut off, and the fuel for her spells was just  _not there._

And she was terrified.

 _He's going to kill me. He's going to_ _fucking_   _kill_   _me_ _._

"I'll give you this; you're a hell of a fighter. My face is already turning black and blue from our little brawl. But..." He paused.

"Good night."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews aren't required, but they are nice to read ^^.


	8. Face the Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, well...Maera gets an unwelcome surprise. And some advice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all my readers and kudos-ers ^^. Thanks and please keep reading!  
> Also, I don't own Mt:G or DnD. Both belong to Wizards of the Coast, which I am not affiliated with in any way.

**Chapter Eight**

**Face the Problem**

**Maera** screwed her eyes shut, knowing that in a second she'd be a headless corpse. _Fuck. Fuck my life. Fuck my luck. Fuck me. Fuck the universe. Fuck the Multiverse..._

It took several iterations of her telling various higher powers to go fuck themselves before she realized that she was still thinking. Which meant that her brain was still working. Which meant that it wasn't spread in a bloody mess all over the floor.

Which meant that she was still alive to be able to _tell_ the Multiverse to go fuck an Eldrazi.

_Da fuck?_

“I'd suggest getting _off_ of her. Or I'll have to break your face even more.” Said a familiar voice. “But it looks like she's done enough damage already.”

She felt the man's weight shift on her back as he turned. “And where did _you_ come from?”

“Your imagination.”

“Be serious.”

He snorted. “Hey, assassin boy, get your _ass_ ass in gear before I kick it up between your ears.”

“Sorry if I'm not intimidated, but you don't look like much of a fighter to me.

“Say that to the solid-adamantium staff I've got in my hand right now, that's about ten seconds from smashing into your skull.” A pause. “So move, or you're gonna get _shafted._ ”

Maera groaned and banged her forehead on the deck plating. “Please shoot him in the foot. I'll pretend I was unconscious.”

“Don't tell me you're actually _liking_ this? I mean, if I'd known you were into bondage I'd have—”

“Finish that statement and I'll crush your balls.”

“Oh~kay, not doing so great then.” The elf's boots clanged heavily on the deck plating as he approached. “Again; move it, bub. I _really_ don't want to torch you, mostly because we're in a floating tin can and I don't want to use up all the oxygen.”

“How nice of you.”

“Meh. It's more for my benefit than anything; be kind of a buzzkill to kill you, only to end up dying of asphyxiation in the process. Kinda nullifies the whole point of killing the bad guy.”

_Oh my god, Szord. Get to the damn point, before I grab you by the foot and yank you down to my level, broken wrist be damned._ Maera thought idly, wondering if her friend and the would-be assassin would finish their chat before or _after_ the others managed to deal with their own little goon squads..

“Sounds to me like you have a few unresolved anger issues.”

A grunt. “I'd say more than a few, but right now there's only _one_ I gotta deal with.” The stopped, and Maera could see the drow's boots out of the corner of her eye if she strained. “Get off. My friend. Or your skull's going to have a canyon in it.”

The man chuckled. “I'm sorry, but I have trouble finding that threat very intimidating, coming from you. You look like you belong in a library, not a battlefield.”

“Looks can be deceiving. Now get off, bastard.”

“This woman has been labeled a thread to Etrides' safety. Either she comes with me, or I die.”

“I'll take that as a no.” A beat. “Maera, close your eyes.”

“I've seen burn wounds before, genius. Some of which on _you.”_

“That's not why.” A sizzling and crackling sound came from his direction. “I'd rather _not_ blind you. Missing an arm is bad enough.”

“What are you—”

Maera screwed her eyes shut as the newcomer released the spell. The light of it was _still_ bright enough to see from behind her eyelids. Once it had faded back to black, she cracked her eyes open, and surveyed the damage.

There wasn't much, surprisingly. A couple tables and their accompanying chairs had been pushed around in the common area, and there wasn't even a streak on the ground as evidence of the lightning bolt's passage; just the smell of ozone it left behind. Szordree Wyndal was standing barely a meter away, his staff held parallel to the ground in front of him, fist at his side, black-skinned and white dredlocks still sparking. The red glow of magic was fading from his pale blue eyes, and his glower was fixed at what—or in this case, _whom—_ had been blown away by the lightning bolt.

Following the line of his staff, Maera saw the target of the glower. The assassin who'd been about to blow her head off was crumpled on the ground, electricity still dancing along his torso and limbs, hair scorched and gasping. Just as the dark elf was glaring at him, the man in black was glaring daggers at Szordree, even as he was trying to get his muscles to stop spasming enough to stand.

Her eyes widened. _Damn, bastard's tough he's not only still alive, he's_ _conscious_ _._ She thought. _These Inquisitorium guys have some damn good agents if they can take a lightning bolt_ _to the chest_ _and not be out cold._

_Either that, or_ _I'm_ _not at my top game._

She pushed the thought aside as she pushed herself up, hissing as she put weight on her wounded arm and side. Not waiting for permission, Szordree caught her by the upper arm and hauld her to her feet, the half-fae swearing the whole time. “Careful. Your side's bleeding. And...holy shit, how'd you break your wrist? It looks like you smeared spider guts all over it.”

Maera rolled her eyes. “Can it.” She looked back to the glowering, gasping assassin. “Damn though. He took that head-on and he's still breathing.”

Szordree grunted and tapped his staff on the deck with a _clang_. “That's 'cuz I didn't shoot it off at full strength. And I'm going to guess that armor of his dissipated some of the energy, but even without it he'd be alive.”

Maera's heart skipped a beat. _Wait...what?_ “You...didn't go full blast on that one?”

Szordree shook his head. “If I had, you'd have been blown away too. And electrocuted. Which I kind of wanted to avoid.”

Maera's mouth pressed into a hard line. _He didn't use the spell at full power. That's why Mr. Ass-assin over there is still breathing._ She thought. _...And all my punching and headbutting and kicking didn't do more than annoy the guy. And bruise up his face._

_I'm_ _definitely_ _not at my full game._

The thought did not sit well with the half-faerie.

“Y...you're...not st...stable.” The assassin finally managed to grind out.

Szordree shot him a cocked brow and shit-eating grin. “Oh nine hells no. Life wouldn't be much fun without a couple screws loose, anyway.” He made little circles next to one of his ears with a long, black finger in a 'cuckoo' sign. “A little nutzo every now and then livens things up.”

The assassin's glower at the drow only darkened. “Y-you're a-a...th-thread to Etri-Etrides.” He hissed, reaching for a small, thumb-sized device on his belt. “Ca...can't let y...you run l-loose—”

“Bub, if you want to catch all the loonies out there, you've got your work cut out for you. Now amscray, before I _really_ lose my temper on you.”

The assassin gritted his teeth, but didn't say anything. Instead he held the device in one trembling hand and pressed a button. A moment later his form dissolved into shards of light.

He was gone.

Maera kicked the floor. “Son of a _bitch!”_ She snarled, pacing away. “That _fucker_ managed to grab Grim, and probably the rest of the weirdos—”

“Uh, Maera...”

“...and then decided _I_ was on his hit list, and mother _fucker_ I was _fucking useless!”_ She kicked a table a few times out of frustration, before sinking down into a chair. “He beat my ass, even _after_ I decked the last of his goon squad. But that isn't what burns the most.” She took a breath, resting her head on her hand even though it hurt like hell, because of her wrist and the fact that she'd kept on punching... _with a broken wrist,_ like an idiot. And her head was starting to spin, as the blood loss from the knife wound—it wasn't deep, but it was a bleeder—she'd gotten from Captain Fashionably-Challenged.

Szordree was standing by, not far away as she went on her tirade. She closed her eyes, not particularly caring if he was about to reply or not. “It's the fact that I _couldn't fucking stop him_. I thought he was stupidly, superhumanly strong...but he probably wasn't. Augmented yeah, but probably not enough to make him the fucking Terminator.” She drew in a deep breath and blew it out hard, willing herself to ignore the lump in her throat. “It...it's...gods, I don't want to say it. Like, _really_ don't want to say it...” _But it won't make it less true._

Szordree watched her, brow furrowed. Carefully, he joined her, leaning against the table. “You don't want to say what?”

Maera shook her head, biting her lip. She still didn't open her eyes. “That...that I...” She trailed off, biting harder. Told herself it was a bad dream, even though she knew it wasn't. That even in her worst nightmares she still had magic. Still had _something._

“I can't...I can't use magic. I can't draw mana...can't cast spells without them backfiring...or doing nothing altogether.” A pause. She opened her eyes and glared at the ground.

“Szordree... _I'm not a fucking mage anymore._ ”

**-XXX-**

**Maera** grunted her thanks to the aetherborn when Tone was done healing her latest set of wounds. The physical ones, anyway. The ones to her pride—no, her _self—_ were still wide open and bleeding.

She wasn't a mage. She couldn't draw mana without it going awry. She couldn't cast with her internal stores, not without something backfiring. In fact, nothing happening _at all_ was the _best_ outcome.

Her ability to use magic was completely...gone. Fried, along with whatever had fried her ability to Planeswalk. She could still feel her Spark burning, but it was a disconnected feeling. As if she was watching a video of a fire flicker, rather than feeling its heat itself.

Her Spark was still ignited, but she couldn't reach into it. She didn't feel the roar of the Blind Eternities like she should.

It bothered her.

“ _It's a shame you have no idea what youré capable of, little faerie. Oh, well....”_

She balled her remaining fist, the stump of her shoulder twinging at the memory. _Bolas...if I ever see you again, I'm gonna skin your scaly hide and turn you into a leather coat. That way if you somehow manage to bring your trash ass back to life_ _again_ _I'll be fireproof._ She thought, angry. _...If I can manage to Planeswalk again. Or at least cast spells._

It wasn't until Tone waved a hand in her face that she realized they were giving her a concerned look. “You all right? You look like you want to put a hole in the wall.”

Maera unclenched her hand, nodding. “Probably 'cause I do.” She stood, pacing the room, arm wrapped around her chest. “I'm only at half my game. I'm a battle _mage_. I rely as much on magical skills as combat ability. And right now, all I've got is the _battle_ half....” It reminded her of back when she was a teenager, just dipping into spellcasting for the first time. She'd opted for the battlemage path...only back then, what she'd had and what she'd lacked had been reversed.

Without her magic, she felt _naked_. She hadn't started her arcane training until almost sixteen, so she'd been a mage for a relatively short time. But in that decade (give or take a year or two) her spells had become as much a part of her as if she'd spent her whole life in arcane libraries. She hadn't realized exactly _how_ much of her battle strength was magic until now.

Okay, sure. She still had her bladework, but as with spells she hadn't started _that_ until late as well. And when it came to problem-solving, she was best at problems that involved math and science. Or bashing something to bits. Or, ideally, both.

This lovely little issue was _neither_ of those. There was nothing that could be quantified in math equations or alchemical formulae, and there wasn't anything in the way she had to smash her way through. It was a problem _in her_ , one that didn't have a clear path to a solution.

And it made her _mad._

“Son of a _bitch!”_ She yelled, kicking the wall. Hard. Her foot smarted, which made her madder, which she directed into kicking the wall _again._ And again. And again. And _again_. Several times, until she was fairly certain her entire foot was black-and-blue—if she didn't break a toe or two. She sank down against the wall and pulled her knees up to her chest, resting her forehead on her knees. She wrapped her arm around her legs, pulling them close. “Mother _fucker_ I hate this. I hate this so much. Life can go find a flaming barbed wire dildo and get fucked up the ass with it.”

“You know, as much as I sympathize with your opinion,” She heard the shifting of clothing as Tone came over and sat beside her. “I don't really think taking it out on the wall is the best way to go. Unless of course it was your _intention_ to turn your foot black and blue.”

Maera grunted. “I'm wearing boots. You can't see if my foot's black and blue.”

“No, but you dented the wall. A _durasteel wall_. If your foot _isn't_ bruised, I'll eat my shirt.”

“It's barely a divot. It'll work itself out with artificial gravity fluctuations or...something.”

“Well right now it's still a dent and you still made it. Take off your boot so I can take a look at your foot. I think you might've broken Ganneth's record for how quickly you re-injure something.”

“Thanks. Funny.” She didn't move.

After a moment of waiting for a response, Tone shook their head and let out a frustrated breath. “And you're about as stubborn too.”

“So're you.”

Tone made a sound halfway between a hum and a grunt. “Look at who I'm _friends_ with. Ganneth, X'vir, and Grim are all stubborn as a mother scorpion. Nasala at least will _do_ things she's not thrilled about, though it's still like pulling teeth.”

“You say that like it's a bad thing.”

“Oh, trust me. You haven't tried dealing with a mother dire scorpion who's dug herself in. it's a pain in the ass.”

“I was talking about the stubbornness.”

“So was I.”

Maera grunted again as the doors opened. “I was going to ask how she's doing, but I guess the answer's not so good.” Szordree said as he entered.

“Not really, no.” Tone rose as they spoke. “She's gotten herself worked up in a funk.”

“I do _not_ have myself worked up in a funk.”

“Tell that to the _wall_.”

“It was either that or find someone's face to beat in, and I'm not much of a fan of jailtime.”

“Again; _wall.”_

Maera lifted her head and propped her chin up on her knees. Then she blew a raspberry at Tone, like the mature adult she was.

The aetherborn returned with a snort and a rude gesture.

She repeated the raspberry.

Szordree rolled his eyes to the overhead. “Mystra help me.” He muttered, shaking his head. “Sooo I'm guessing the banging I heard was her kicking the wall.”

“She left a dent.”

“It's barely there!”

Tone let out a long-suffering sigh. “See what I mean?”

Szordree snorted. “You can't seen her with her asshole emter full. It gets _really_ bad.”

“Hey, is it my fault people are dumb? It seems to be one of the few constants no matter what plane you're on; stupidity abounds. I cope by being an asshole.”

“And I cope by cracking bad jokes and annoying high-ranking rulers.”

“You forgot the _dad jokes_. And the _puns_.”

The drow grinned. “You just don't have an appreciation of the finer things. There's nothing sweeter than a nice, aged pun.”

I can think of a few things. Like wine. Or cheese. Or my week-old smelly gym socks.”

“Isn't that where the cheese comes from?”

Maera unbuckled her boot and threw it at him. “Shut up. This is why you don't have a girlfriend.”

“Who said I wanted a girlfriend~?”

“Or a boyfriend!”

Tone was picking up the thrown boot between their thumb and forefinger. “Okay, one: I'd appreciate it if you didn't throw shoes at people. Two...” they took a whiff of the boot, then held it out at arms-length and put their hand over the lower half of their face. “My _gods_ , what in the _hell_ is wrong with your _feet?!”_

“Hey, in my defense I just got done with a fight. Two of them. Boots are gonna be rank after that.”

“Yeah.” Tone dropped the boot. “It also smells like something curled up and _died_ in there.”

“Be glad you didn't go to high school with me, then. Apparently my smelly shoes could clear a classroom.”

“...I'll take your word for it.” Tone deadpanned. They came over and took a look at the bruised foot. “Well. I figured you'd managed that.”

“At least nothing's broken?”

Tone gave her a deadpan look. “Just shut up and hold still.” They laid a hand on her foot, and Maera felt the now too-familiar itching of the injury being healed. “You've got a real talent for getting yourself hurt while blowing off steam.”

Maera grunted. “ _Usually_ I take out my anger on a punching bag, or a video game.” She pinned Szordree with her own deadpan glare. “Or tall, skinny, annoying pyromancers who have a thing for dad-worthy puns.”

Szordree simply waggled his eyebrows and said, “All's fair in pun and war.”

Tone blinked. First at Szordree, then at Maera. “Does he have an off button? Or one for mute?”

Maera stood. “Unless you want to break out the duct tape.” She replied. “But then there's a very high possibility he'll set it on fire.”

“You sound like you're talking from experience.”

“I am.” Maera responded at the same time Szordree chirped, “She is.” Maera gave another glower. She stood, brushing imaginary dust off her front. “I'm going to go do...something. I don't know yet.”

“Continue moping?”

She stuck her tongue out at the drow. “No. Yes. I don't know.” She blew out a frustrated breath, running a hand through her hair. “I...I need to think. About all of... _this._ ”

Szordree leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. “You going to be all right?”

Maera shrugged. “Now? Hells no. Eventually....” She shrugged again and shook her head. “I have no idea. It's just kinda...a lot right now.”

“Take all the time you need, hon.” Tone said, perching themselves on the edge of the table. “Just come back if you managed to get yourself into _another_ fight.”

Maera grunted again and left the clinic—again, pulling on her jacket as she went. She started back towards the hotel she'd been staying, letting her feet take her there on autopilot while she digested the recent events. _I can't use magic. I can't Planeswalk. Grim's been arrested by Inquisitorium goons. And a fight I'd ordinarily be able to hold my own in ended with my ass getting handed to me._

_I_ _have_ _to figure out what's wrong. I just don't know_ _how_ _._ Her hand balled into a fist. _Damn it...i hate this. I hate feeling so_ _useless_ _._

Maera stopped, her feet having brought her to one of the observation decks instead of her hotel. He brow furrowed, then she shook her head and sank down onto one of the couches. She slumped into the cushions, running her hand through her hair and rubbing her forehead. _Normally I'm good at solving problems like this. Go to the nearest library and dive into some books...or ensconce myself in my lab, figure out how whatever works, and figure out how to break it. Or blow it up. Or fix it, or...whatever. Or just set it on fire._

_I can't_ _do_ _that this time. I can't go up to my own Spark and punch it in the face till it works right; magic doesn't work like that._ She tilted her head back and groaned, closing her eyes. She banged her head on the back of the couch. _It's so_ _frustrating_ _. I'm better at having problems outside for me to deal with. At least_ _then_ _there's a way to blow it up._ She pushed her glasses up and rubbed her closed eyes with thumb and forefinger. _This...I can't. And there's no clear place I can go to start puzzling it out._

She sat there in silence for several minutes as she thought her brain into knots. She wasn't sure how long she'd sat there, before someone plopped down onto the seat next to her. “Somehow I'm not surprised I found you here.”

Maera cracked open an eye. “Hey, Rill. I thought you'd be off grumping at a computer or something.”

The kor snorted. “You look pathetic.”

She rolled her eyes and flipped him off. “And people say _my_ bedside manner is shit.”

“Quit bitching. You're fully healed, aren't you?”

Maera made a face. “If you mean physically, then I'm at tops. Well...” she shrugged the stump. “Mostly. But there's only so much a healer can do, no matter how damn good they are.”

Rill grunted. “That may be the only thing I miss about before the Mending. Things like losing a limb, or even losing your whole _body_ was just an inconvenience.” He snapped. “Just will it, and bam—you're back with all your parts intact, and ready to break the face of the bastard that blew you up in the first place.”

“You sound like you're talking from experience.”

Another grunt. “More or less. Ask Karr the next time you see him about the Urza Incident.”

Maera was rubbing her eyes again, but stopped and blinked at the man. “The...what?”

“Ask Karr. I don't remember much other than being very pissed off and Urza ending up hanging off of a tree branch in his underwear. And looking like he'd been thrown down a cliffside.”

“Where the hell was this?!”

“Ask Karr.” Rill repeated, sitting back. “But, regardless...I _don't_ want to go back to pre-Mending power.”

“You saying that just to make little ol' post-Mending me feel better?”

Rill shook his head and crossed his arms. “No. it's true that before the Mending we were _gods._ ” He peered at her. “You no doubt felt it when you and Belinda had your little time-traveling adventure.”

Maera nodded. “Yeah....” She paused for a moment. “I can see _why_ some of you old farts wouldn't mind having that power again.”

“I take offense to that.”

“Pbbfft.” She fiddled with a lock of her hair. “...I also saw _why_ the Mending had to happen. All those people with _that much_ power was tearing reality apart.”

Rill grunted his assent. “And to be honest, it should've happened sooner.” He added. “If not to prevent the damage from getting so bad, then to knock certain pompous windbags down a few notches.”

“Like Bolas, you mean.”

“And Ugin. And Asrask.”

“Who the hell is Asrask?”

“You know how big an ass Bolas is?”

“Nooo, I would _never_ have guessed.”

Rill rolled his eyes. “Imagine if he was an ilithid.”

Maera blinked. Then cringed as the sheer Nope Factor sunk in. “Yyyyech. Nope. No way, nuh-uh, _noooope.”_

“Yeah, that's about right.”

Now it was Maera's turn to roll her eyes. “So. You came here with Szord?”

“Yeah.” He crossed his legs, resting his ankle on his knee. “From the sound of it, you guys managed to get pretty fucked up.”

Maera pointed to the stump where her right arm used to be. “No shit, Sherlock.” She deadpanned. She let her arm fall and crossed her legs indian-style. She rested her chin in her hand and stared out the window at the gas giant below. “We got our asses handed to us, and I'm pretty sure the only reason we didn't get killed was because Bolas was bored and decided to play with us.”

“You'd be right there.” Maera peered at Rill as he spoke. “I'm serious. You guys are alive for _exactly_ that reason; Bolas was bored and needed some amusement.”

“You sound like you're siding with him.”

Rill snorted. Loudly. “Okay, now I'm _really_ offended.” He shook his head. “Trust me, I'm not. In fact, if y'all had managed to _beat_ the giant windbag, I'd have taken you all out for drinks on Middle-Earth. That giant, scaley, oversized leather purse is the source of most of the Multiverse's problems. Him, and the Phyrexians.”

“Don't forget Urza.”

Rill barked a laugh. “Him, too. Only he's _dead_ , but that doesn't mean that the shit he pulled while he was _alive_ isn't still causing problems....” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “That's _another_ thing I'm glad the Mending did. Reduced the amount of trouble a single Planeswalker could stir up.”

“I don't know, we can still cause _plenty_ of chaos....”

“So I've heard.” He paused, and the change in tone when he continued wasn't lost on Maera. “...I've also heard that you've lost your ability to draw mana.”

Maera sighed and looked down at the floor, sagging into her seat. “...Yeah.” She replied quietly. “I can't draw mana to replenish my stores, and when I try casting with what I _do_ have left....” She shrugged. “It goes haywire. My ability to use any kind of magic is just...not there. Or, it's there but all twisted up in knots and gets tangled even more when I try casting spells.”

Rill was silent for a while, likely letting that fact sink in. Maera heard him shift and get up and walk over to the edge of the room; a minute later he'd returned, holding a bottle of dark amber liquid out to her. “Here.”

Maera looked over and frowned at the bottle, and at Rill. The kor responded with a raised eyebrow, then set it down on the coffee table before dropping back down on the couch, twisting off the cap of his own beer. “You look like you needed a drink.”

Maera gruned and picked up the beer, holding it between her feet as she twisted off the cap. She held it up in a toast before taking a swig; the alcohol burned as it went down, and the drink had notes of malt, caramel, and roasted almonds. She hummed her approval before continuing. “I don't know how the hell to start coming at this problem. I'm better at figuring out how best to blow something out of the way than I am at un-knotting someone's mana lines.”

Rill hmmed. “Not every problem can _be_ solved by bashing your head through it. Sometimes you need to bury your head in books.”

Maera snorted. “I don't think that'll work, either.” She fiddled with her bottle, trying to decide how best to word her next statement. “Rill...I'm not sure if I even still _am_ a mage. I mean, if I can't cast spells...hells bells, if I can't even _Planeswalk_....” _Then I'm not a Planeswalker anymore, either._

Rill made a sound in his throat. It wasn't quite a hum...it was deeper. “Question.” He said a length.

Maera was taking a drink of her beer. “Shoot.”

“Can you still _feel_ your Spark?”

Maera frowned, but closed her eyes and felt deep, deep within her, searching for the familiar roar. “....Yeah, it's there.”

“And it's still ignited, right?”

She hesitated, but finally nodded. “Yeah. It's just...it doesn't feel _right_. Like it's not mine. Or it's...disconnected, I guess. I'm not sure what the right word is.”

“How so?”

Maera frowned, still with her eyes closed. “It's like...uh....it's hard to describe.” She murmured. “Like...you know when you've got a campfire going? How can feel the heat and the pops and cracks of the wood?”

“Yes.”

“It's...I don't know. It's like that, only rather than sitting in front of the fire I'm watching it on a TV screen or something. Or that I'm far enough away that I can see it but not feel it” She paused. “...I suck at explaining things.”

“No, I think I get it.” Maera opened her eyes and looked to Rill. “Your Spark's still burning, but there's a barrier between you and it. And, consequently, the source of your magic.”

Maera narrowed her eyes and tapped the rim of her bottle against her lower lip. “I..guess so?”

“The fact that you can still _feel_ your Spark means that it wasn't sealed off. That you're still, technically, a Planeswalker.” The kor continued. “There's just the big mess that's your fouled-up spellcasting ability that's in the way. I'll bet that once you get that untangled, it'll clear up not just the spellcasting but the Planeswalking too.”

Maera sat back against the couch again, her frustration returning in force. “Which brings us back to the _original_ problem; how the hell do I do that?!” She snapped. “Hell, _can_ it even be sorted out?! For all I know, when Bolas twisted my own magic against me and blew my arm up, he fouled it up for good!” She let out an angry breath. “Hell, might've even taken it for himself.”

“Okay. First, think; what in the Eternities would a big, smelly Elder Dragon need with the abilities of a socially-awkward half-faerie with anger issues?”

She thought. And then bopped the neck of the beer bottle against her forehead. _I feel dumb._ “...not a lot.”

“Exactly.” He nodded to her. “So I doubt he took your powers for himself. Instead, he's more likely to have used a spell to counter and then tangle up your mana lines, crossing your magical wires and causing an arcane short whenever you tried casting. Effectively incapacitated you as a mage, nullifying any threat you may have posed.” He took a swig of his beer. “My point is, since your magic's still there it's not a permanent problem. A hard one, but not permanent.”

Maera grunted, and fiddled with her beer bottle before taking a swig herself. “...You sound like you've dealt with this before.”

Rill shrugged. “More or less.” He replied. He stared out the window, eyes distant; whatever he was looking at, it wasn't the spacescape outside. “When my Spark ignited...I landed on Tarkir, and was dealing with much the same problem you are now.”

Maera idly swirled the last of her beer around in her bottle. “Oh?”

The kor nodded. “In my case, it was the _ignition_ that twisted up my magic. It took me a while to sort it out and figure out what was happening, and where I was; about all I know at the time was that I was _not_ on Zendikar anymore.”

“That how you met Allandir and the others?”

“More or less,” Rill replied with a nod. “He, Amanisa, and Dane were the first fellow Planeswalkers I met.” A small, wistful smile touched his face. “I didn't know what to make out of _any_ of them at first. Until then, I hadn't had much contact with non-kor outside of the odd passerby. And I'd _never_ seen a dwarf before.”

“Welp. Dane must've been an...experience, then.”

Rill looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “Not just Dane. Have you ever been in a drinking contest with an elf?”

“Well...no.” _And to be honest, I've never been in_ _any_ _drinking contests...unless you count chugging five sodas at once for a giant belch._

“Here's a piece of advice: _don't._ You _will_ lose.”

“Noted.” She raised her beer in a salute before draining what was left of it. “I'm assuming you managed to un-knot your magic.”

“Obviously.” He polished his off as well before pointing the empty bottle in her direction. “My point is, it _isn't permanent._ I'll be a pain in the ass and be a headache, but you'll manage to work it out.”

Maera placed her empty beer bottle on the coffee table and leaned back in her seat, resting her hand behind her head. “That still doesn't tell me anything about where to start.”

Rill let out a breath. “Maybe this will. Look,” Maera turned towards him, and he tapped a spot on his temple. “Up here is where we keep our spells. Our magical knowledge. The _words_ we use to direct our mana into spells.” He said. “But, that's not _where_ we do the casting.”

“Your point?”

Rill cocked an eyebrow. “We cast our spells from _here._ ” He moved his hand to his chest, tapping a spot over his heart. “From our _heart_. Magic is, at its core, instinctual. Yes, the spells we use often take the same of words or runes, but those are simply a shortcut. A tool to use as a focus; technically, _any_ spell can be cast just by thinking of it.” He explained. “And half the time, we don't even think about the mechanism that does it...because we're not even sure there _is_ one. Haven't you ever had those moments when it feels like a spell almost casts _itself_?”

Maera snorted. “A few times. It's...weird. But not a bad weird...I don't think.”

Rill snapped his fingers and pointed at her. “Exactly.” He pointed to her heart. “If you want to find a solution, the best advice I can give you is to look _inside yourself._ Take a moment to turn your mind inward, and let your heart lead instead of your brain.”

Maera cocked her head and gave him a funny look. “Rill, I think you might be turning into a hippie.” She said. “A very cranky hippie.”

Rill snorted. “If that's the case, then I've been one from the start.” He rose. “I'm not sure if it'll help, but try meditating.” He suggested, shrugging. “Though I've got the sneaking suspicion you're _not_ the meditation type.”

“Not really.” Maera shook her head. “It's kinda...out of my repertoire.”

“Well, seems like _all_ of this is out of your repertoire.” Rill pointed out. Maera snorted and looked away; he wasn't exactly _wrong._ “And, frankly, sometimes it's not a bad idea to step outside your comfort zone.”

Maera hummed, but didn't reply. Rill was almost to the door when she piped up again. “Rill?”

The kor turned. “Yes?”

“Why...exactly...did Allandir give me his staff? It seemed pretty important to him when he did, and when I asked why he just gave me this shitty smile and said I'd know when I'd need to.”

Rill let out a sigh and ran a hand down his face. “That smarmy little...” he shook his head. “You made an impression on your ancestor, Maera. A _hell_ of an impression; you didn't stick around very long back then, but he _saw_ something in you. Potential, I suppose. And...something else.”

She frowned. “What?”

“Balls.” A pause. “And...I think he _knew_ you were only scratching the surface of what you could do. That there was _so much more_ underneath what you already could do.” He studied her for a moment, running a hand down his chin. “Allandir was a pretty damn good judge of character. He didn't pass his staff on to you on a whim. He _knew_ you'd be right for it.”

Maera chewed the inside of her cheek idly and stared at her palm. “Scratching the surface, huh?” She muttered. More than once she'd been referred to as 'one of the most powerful Planeswalkers since the Mending'. She _thought_ that meant her ability as a Living Artifact, her ability to draw mana and change it to whatever color she needed—or wanted—for a spell. Was there something beyond that? “Do you think he's right?”

Rill shrugged and crossed his arms. “No idea. I never lived in the guy's head—and given the kind of crazy stunts he'd pull, I don't think I'd _want_ to.” He inclined his head to her. “But I _do_ think he _was_ right about one thing.”

Her frown deepened. “What?”

“You're one _hell_ of a good person. You protect who and what you care about. Don't _ever_ let _anyone_ tell you it's pointless.

“Because it isn't.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, keep on reading ^^. And while reviews and Kudos aren't required, they give us authors lots of warm fuzzies to read~


	9. Owned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we get a glimpse into Zachar's headspace. Also, the Inquisitorium are evil bitches.

**Chapter Nine**

**Owned**

**It**  was dark.

Zachar  _hated_  the dark.

It was a stupid fear. One that he  _should_  have outgrown years ago, but for some reason he never had. And so, that was why he was currently sitting cross-legged in the corner of his pitch-black cell, trying his damnedest to keep the fear at bay.

It...wasn't working.

Currently, he was sitting with his legs crossed, wrists resting easily on his knees, eyes closed (despite the fact that even if they  _were_  open, he'd be just as blind), trying to work past the fear and meditate. So far the only effect it was having was keeping his brain occupied enough so he wasn't reduced to desperate puddle of scared vedalken.

Barely.

He took a breath.  _Calm. Focus yourself, Zachar. Freaking out would be to their advantage, so don't freak out._  He reminded himself, unclenching the fists he'd unconsciously made.  _Try to keep a clear head._

He'd woken up in this cell, the transport already at FTL—he could tell  _that_  much at least from the engines. It was subtle, but he'd lived so much on  _Sleipnir_  that he knew the low rumble of an active FTL drive almost better than his own heartbeat. The cell had been dark, so dark that at first he'd been afraid he had been blinded...and if he was being honest, he still wasn't  _entirely_  sure that was the case. Regardless, he couldn't sense anything outside of his cell, and there was no technology he could reach within the cell he could reach out to. And even if there was, the metal collar around his neck would've prevented it; it cut off his connection to the aether currents entirely. He couldn't have cast spells if he'd wanted ot.

On top of it, by the time he'd woken up he'd been changed into prisoner scrubs; loose pants, sleeveless shirt with no pockets, and no shoes. Zachar tried not to think about his captors changing his clothes while he'd been unconscious; the thought made his skin crawl. They hadn't even left him his chest binder.

He shuddered.  _That alone_  made him feel worse than just the darkness. He hated his body, the sheer... _wrongness_  of it. Most of the time, he ignored it as best he could, going about his daily business...and since the world saw the appearance of a man, it treated him as such. But now that he'd had that stripped...

It reminded him just  _how much_  he hated his anatomy.

_No doubt just as calculated a move as leaving my cell completely dark._

He heard a door open and the shifting of fabric as someone entered. He didn't move from his position; if he did, he was fairly certain he'd either be so stiff he'd trip over his own feet, or so jittery he'd do so. The newcomer stopped before him. "Stand."

Zachar opened his eyes and peered up at where he assumed the person's head was. The door had to have closed, s it was still completely dark. "We're not there yet."

"Stand."

Apparently, he was not going to get any answers out of his visitor. Silently he stood, and the person shifted. A moment later, a blindfold was buckled over his eyes and his wrists were bound with cuffs, before he was led out of the cell and down the hall. The deck was cold under his feet, and it was more than a little frustrating that he'd had to be blindfolded; it wasn't as if he wasn't privy to the existence of the Inquisitorium, or hadn't been on one of their ships before.  _It seems a bit much if you ask me._

The feeling of dread that had been gnawing at him since he woke up intensified. He clenched his hand, trying for some sort of outlet for the pent-up frustration.

After several turns and a short lift ride, he was led to another room. The cuffs were magnetized to the table and the blindfold removed as he sat. the guard left the room, the door lock whirring shut behind him. After spending so long—at least a day, possibly more—in the pitch-dark cell, the low light of the interrogation room was almost blinding, and the vedalken found himself blinking at the brightness.

The interrogation room was bare. The four durasteel walls were bare, and the chair and table were both matte gray metal. The table was built as part of the floor, and the only adornment on the top was the electromagnet that held his cuffed wrists to it. The chair sitting across from him was a twin to the one in which he sat, indicating that he was going to have company. When, there was no indication of.

His intuition was proven correct when a familiar face entered the room. It was the woman who'd contacted them at the start of this mess, back at Mezlar Station; Sonna. Her dark hair was pulled back into a tight bun, her pale eyes almost colorless, and a thin tracery of lines betrayed her more-than-human ancestry. Her suit was tailored, cut close to her body and her shoes clacked on the durasteel of the deck. She slid into the the chair o the other side of the table and set her data slate down, laying the stylus down next to it in a precise motion. "It seems things have come full-circle, Zachar."

Zachar's fist clenched. "I hope you're happy."

"I get neither satisfaction nor disappointment from this, Zahar." Sonna replied, folding her hands in front of her. "I am simply doing my job."

"Of course you are. Just like everyone else doing the Inquisitorium's dirty work."

Sonna sighed. "It was a mistake for you to leave, Zachar." She said. "You could have achieved so much."

"That's exactly what the assassin you sent said about my parents. As he was standing in the pool of their blood and aiming a blaster at my heart."

"They were a liability. They had to be eliminated before any harm could be done."

Zachar's mouth twisted. "And is that what you're about to do with me? Bring me to be executed in some dark hole somewhere nobody will be able to find?"

"No." Sonna picked up the stylus and tapped on the slate. "You're far too valuable for that."

"Then what? It's not as if I'm part of some counter-organization, nor do I have any political pull whatsoever." He sat back as much as his cuffs would allow, stuck to the table as they were. "What could you  _possibly_  gain by bringing be back to home base alive, rather than putting a blaster bolt in my head? Especially given whom you sent to do it."

"You're correct about both of those." Sonna tapped once more on her slate before putting the stylus back down. "As for what we could gain...complete security for Etrides."

"Still on about that?"

The woman sighed, rubbing the tattoo around her eye. "You don't get it." She said. "People like  _you_...these 'planes walkers', as you call yourself, can come and go as they please. You certainly do."

"You've been keeping tabs on my 'walks?"

"You're the reason we  _can_  detect when someone leaves or enters our universe." Sonna re-knit her fingers and narrowed her eyes. "If you hadn't joined our ranks, the world of planes walkers would still be unknown to us. Thank you, Zachar."

"Just get to your damned point."

"Etrides needs to be protected, Zachar." Sonna said. "And as none of the Inquisitorium leaders are planeswalkers themselves, you are unique."

Zachar felt ice starting to trickle down his back. "I am  _not_  going to go and hunt down other Planeswalkers for you. Not in a million years; the moment you send me on a mission will be the  _last_  time you see me."

"I find it hard to believe that you would abandon your colleagues so easily."

"They aren't colleagues. They're friends. I'm sure you've encountered the concept before."

Sonna hummed in her throat. "You'd be back."

"Right at the foot of your boss with a blaster aimed at their head."

"That's rather hamfisted, don't you think?"

"If it gets the job done."

Sonna was silent for a moment. Then she let out a breath and steepled her fingers in front of her. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but you won't be taking your old job." She said. "As good as you were at it. No, you're getting a...promotion, of sorts."

Zachar's brow furrowed. The ice running down his spine got colder. "What sort of 'promotion'? Have you managed to get  _another_  Planeswalker on your payroll?"

"No, sadly." She blinked slowly. "But, we only need  _one_  of you, anyway. I'm sure you're familiar with the Hive."

It felt like the cold sweat along his spine flash-froze to liquid nitrogen, it went so cold. "You...what?"

Sonna's eyebrow raised. "I see you've grasped what's going to happen to you. Good." Her voice was mild, as if they were discussing preferences for coffee. "Then I don't need to explain anything to you."

"No. You don't." A pause. Then, "Why?"

"Like I said before; the protection of Etrides." Sonna replied, her voice still even. "People like you, these  _planeswalkers_ , can't be allowed to come and go whenever they please. How are we supposed to know they aren't here for some nefarious purpose? The mere  _presence_  of planeswalkers is potentially destabilizing. If we don't find a way to put some sort of barrier around Etrides, or at least a shield against these beings, one of them could toss the entire galaxy into chaos. Not ot mention what sort of chaos could spread across the entire  _universe_..."

Zachar's nails dug into his palms. "You can't assume  _every_  Planeswalker out there is an enemy. Most of them don't even know Etrides  _exists_ , let alone give a flying crap about our planar politics."

"But some of them  _could_  be enemies." Sonna paused. "Orders are orders, and better safe than sorry, right? And with  _your_  knowledge and abilities added to the Hive, we'll be able to track and react to any entries and exits to Etrides even better and faster than before. If we can capture any planes walker who comes here, then we won't need a shield to keep them out."

"If you start kidnapping random Planeswalkers who happen to take a wrong turn, you'll end up with their friends at your doorstep. Their very  _mad friends_."

"From the sounds of it, you planes walkers seem to be under the impression that we 'planes bound', as you call us, can't really do much if you decide to leave."

"That's because you can't."

Sonna looked him up and down. "Really. It seems that we've done a pretty good job of it with you."

A muscle worked in Zachar's jaw. He didn't want to admit that Planeswalking took a significant amount of mana to do; he had to draw enough from both his surroundings as well as across the Blind Eternities themselves, enough to poke a hole in reality  _just_  large enough for a person to slip through...and then seal up behind him. As far as he knew, the Inquisitorium did  _not_  know that Planeswalking was magically-based.

Though he wouldn't be surprised at all if they'd managed to come to that conclusion on their own. It wasn't as if they didn't have a lot of brainpower in the Hive; he didn't know the exact number of people who made up the hive mind, but he was fairly sure it was easily at least a hundred. All of which with varying skills and of every sentient race—barring dragons—that they knew of.

Except Planeswalkers, of course. As far as Zachar knew, nobody who'd been absorbed into the Hive had an ignited Spark.

No wonder the Inquisitorium wanted him alive. The prospect of knitting the consciousness and skill set of a Planeswalker into the Inquisitorium's central body of command must have them salivating.

He certainly would.

As it was, he was surprised he wasn't trembling. Frankly, the idea of having his consciousness absorbed into a hive-mind was...terrifying.

 _I wish I didn't have this collar wrapped around my neck about now. I'd send a few_ _special_   _spells through their main computer and crash this ship into the nearest star. Sure, I'd go with it, but at least I could 'Walk away before it hit._

Something in him rebelled at the idea of sending several hundred people who likely had no  _idea_  who signed off on their paychecks to their deaths, but he reminded himself that it wasn't as if their employers would think twice about it either. More than once he'd been sent to several destroyed Inquisitorium ships to retrieve sensitive information, rather than find survivors.

Sometimes he did. Other times, either the survivors had left or another "cleaner" had been sent to finish what the crash had started.

His stomach churned at the memory.  _That's what you joined them to stop._  He reminded himself.  _Along with the rest of their shady shit._

_That won't be possible if I'm absorbed into a hive mind, though._

"Before your inevitable tirade starts no, you don't have a choice." Sonna said, jerking Zachar back to the present. "Don't try to fight it; it'll only cause you brain damage during the integration."

A sardonic smirk twisted the corner of Zachar's mouth. "And you wouldn't like that now, would you? A brain-damaged member of the Hive."

"What happens to one of the Hive gets passed to them all, Mister Urin." Sonna responded. "That applies as much to knowledge as it does to injury or illness. It's in not only ours, but also your own best interest not to resist."

"Sorry if I don't find your speech reassuring. The idea of my identity being subsumed into a mass of brains isn't something I'm particularly looking forward too."

"Your identity won't be subsumed.  _You_  will still exist; all of your memories and experiences will still remain. They'll simply be made part of a larger whole." Sonna tucked her stylus away into a pocket and stood. "And no, you won't be relegated to floating in a tank; you will be well cared for, I assure you." She slid her slate under her arm. "In short, you will not die, and your self will not die. Your mind will just become part of a greater consciousness."

Zachar set his jaw, flexing his hands. Sonna was stepping away from the table when he spoke again. "Why? Why tell me this? Wouldn't it just be easier just to let me sit and wonder until you plug me into your living computer?"

His oversimplification got on Sonna's nerves, he could tell by the set of her mouth. She didn't respond to the dig, however. Just to his question. "Ordinarily, you wouldn't have been told."

"Then what's different this time?"

Sonna raised an eyebrow, giving him a mild look. " You may not like it, but you were one of our best operatives."

"You mean assassins."

"Call it what you will; you were still one of our most valuable. If only because of your... _unique_  ability." A pause. "Cal lit a kindness. One that if it were anyone else in charge of your delivery, you would not get."

"I'm touched. I'll be sure to send flowers."

Sonna rolled her eyes. "Enjoy the rest of your trip, Zachar." She said. "And let this serve as a lesson. One you join the Inquisitorium, you are  _owned_  by us. And we always have ways of retrieving our wayward possessions."

She tapped a control on the wall as she left the room. A moment later the guard returned, replacing the blindfold and deactivating the magnetic lock on the table before leading him back to his cell.

Once back and the guard gone, Zachar rubbed his wrists to get the blood flowing back into them. Well,  _now_  he knew what was happening; they wanted to plug their pet Planeswalker into their Hive, and use  _his_  knowledge to block and capture—and potentially even  _study—_ and others who stumbled across Etrides. That wasn't a prospect he was looking forward to."

On the other hand, from what he'd learned...Sonna was right, as much as it galled him to admit. There really  _wasn't_  a lot Zachar could do. At least, not while they had the collar on him, cutting off his connection to the plane's mana.

 _That means I won't be able to do anything until they wire me into the hive. I won't have much of a window. Whatever I do, it'll have to count, and it'll have to be_ _fast_ _._

" _Once you join the Inquisitorium, you are_ _owned_   _by us."_

 _That_  galled him more than the idea of becoming part of a hive-mind.

 _Nobody_   _owns me. Not now, not when I was born, and certainly not anytime soon._

He set his jaw and scowled into the darkness.  _They want to wire me up and add my brain to their central command? Fine by me. But I'm_ _certainly_   _not going along peacefully with their little plan._

A plan of his own was forming in his mind; a form that would kill him, no doubt. But if turning his own brain into a weapon was his only option...  _I'm going to set off a mental bomb that'll take out the_ _entire_   _Hive. When I go down, they're coming down with me._

_This is one possession you should've just let go, assholes._


	10. What it Means to be a Planeswalker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we finally see more plot move forward ^^.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all of my readers and givers of kudos so far, and GIANT thanks to one GamerDragon13 for letting me borrow Dione for this fic!
> 
> Disclaimer: The usual, I don't own anything you recognize. That all belongs to Wizards of he Coast, since they own MtG. I just REALLY wanted a high-tech plane.

 

_**I'm**  not going to sit around and do nothing._

It'd been three days since Grimoire had been taken by the assassins; sent by this mysterious Inqisitorium, she suspected. It was the only guess she could come up with, anyway.

Which was why she was fastening her katana and wakizashi a her hip, and swinging her sports bag over her good shoulder. She tapped the earpiece she had hooked over her left ear. " _Sleipnir_ , I got a question."

" _And that would be?"_  The AI sounded like it— _he—_ had just been woken from a nap.

"How many people can you fit?"

A pause.  _"Regularly, or comfortably?"_

"Max."

Another pause. A loner one. Finally,  _Sleipnir_  responded.  _"Uh, normally I've got four weirdos on board; Grim, Ganneth X'vir, and Tone. Five when Nasala's with us."_

"What's the size crew you're made for?"

" _I can house six crew comfortably. I was built_ _before the aether break, so a lot of the extra engine space has been converted to cargo and extra living space."_

"And if you had to pack as may people as possible? Like if you were helping to evacuate a space station or something?"

 _Sleipnir_  sighed.  _"Absolute maximum, I can haul about ten or twelve. It won't be very comfortable, though."_ He paused.  _"You're going after Grim."_

"That's the plan."

" _You don't know where he is."_

"No, but I've got a pretty good idea where they're  _taking_  him, and I'm pretty sure  _you_  know how to get there."

Another sigh.  _"That I do. Going alone would be stupid."_

"I know." She turned the light off in her room and picked up her staff; it was taller than she was, almost six feet of solid ironwood. Celtic runes were carved along its length and it was wrapped with indigo cloth at two intervals for better grip when staff fighting, with a fist-sized, a softly glowing hunk of aquamarine held in place at the top by a wood lattice—one that looked like the staff  _grown_  the lattice  _around_  the gem. For that matter, Maera wouldn't have been surprised if that was how Allandir had made the staff.

" _You've never killed, have you?"_

" _No."_

_He sighed. Suddenly, her ancestor looked all two-thousand-plus years of his age. "Maera, mages like you and I...we're protectors. We put ourselves between the defenseless and those who would do harm, both physical and otherwise. And we do so willingly. At some point, all of us have to take a life._

" _One day, your summer will end, Maera. It does for all of us who choose to stand guard. You will have to kill...and if in you own time you're anything like what I've seen of you now, you won't enjoy it."_

Allandir's words to her had been in her mind ever since Amonkhet. Maera was no stranger to battle, but Allandir had been right; she'd never killed. Maimed, sure. Injured, definitely. But never once had Maera fought with the intention to kill, just to disable her opponents enough to eliminate the threat.

_Maybe that's why I got hammered so hard. I didn't go in for the kill._

She pushed the thought aside. Even if she had, as the others had, the result would've been the same. Her grip tightened on the staff; in her gut, she knew her ancestor was right. She'd been a Planeswalker for over five years, and had been a battlemage since the moment she learned she could use magic. Maera knew she'd been lucky so far, being able to escape without blood on her hands.

 _It won't last forever_. She thought.

_Allandir passed this staff to me for a reason._

She shook her head and left the bedroom. Her intuition told her that the end of her summer Allandir was talking about was coming, soon. She checked the rest of the apartment she'd been staying in, to make sure she had everything.

Satisfied, she left, locking the place behind her. She started down the hall and tapped her earpiece.  _"Sleipnir_ , can you get me the others?"

" _Yes._ "

"Good. We're going after Grimoire."

_And if anyone gets in my way, I'll rip their goddamn face off._

**-XXX-**

**W** ith  _Sleipnir's_  help Maera and Ganneth plotted the fastest route to the Inquisitorium's home base. It looked like there were going to be several FTL jumps along the way, and some fancy flying as they got closer to the Core, but all in all it would only take about four days.

 _Sleipnir_  suspected that that was about how long it would take the Inquisitorium transport, as well. It was faster, yes, but it would also have to stay out of major travel channels so as to avoid any...awkward explanations. Unlike  _Sleipnir._

Of course, this was all based on assumptions made based on what  _Sleipnir_ had in his databanks—which the ship admitted wasn't everything, not by a long shot. They were all flying by the seat of their pants.

Well, it's not as if Maera wasn't familiar with that. That had been the game plan of most of the fights she had been in in the past.

Of course, she  _also_  usually had magic at her disposal. Hopefully on her way to this plane's version of Section 32, she'd be able to sort  _that_  part out.

"I'll go on a transporter. I'll meet you via Planeswalk. But there is  _no_  way in all of the hells on all of the planes that you're going to be able to  _get me on that metal bubble!"_

They had to get Rill on the ship first, though.

 _That_  was going to be an...adventure.

"I've got it." Maera told Ganneth, the minotaur nodding with a grunt and a handwave. She stood and strode out of the cockpit—dodging a grumpy aetherborn and OCD Azeran—and down the ladder to the cargo hold and currently-open airlock.

Where Rill was having a rather... _heated_ argument with Szordree and Nasala. Currently, the later was bonking her head against the bulkhead out of frustration. Szordree was standing just inside the hatch, trying to convince the male kor that the ship was, indeed, safe.

It wasn't working very well.

"Look, if you want, you can stay in the cockpit so you can monitor everything the  _whole time—_ "

"No. For the hundredth time,  _no._  That metal... _contraption_  is a bubble just waiting to burst, and I am  _not_  going to be on it when it does!"

"Oh, fer...Rill, this is no different than one of the airships on Ebberon, or Kaladesh, or Dominaria!"

"The hell it isn't.  _Those_  are still in an atmosphere.  _This_  thing is floating around in a vacuum!"

" _I have a name, you know!"_

Rill shot a rude gesture at the ship. "I am not. Getting. On."

"And how are you supposed to  _get_  there?"

"Call me. I'll meet you."

Szordree threw his hands up and rolled his eyes. "You're impossible."

"No, I'm smart."

The drow blew out a frustrated breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. Maera put a hand on his shoulder. "Mind if I try?"

He shrugged. "Why not? You can't do any worse than I've been." Szordree grumbled. "I've been waiting for Tone to come down and ask what the hell's going on. And then probably slug this asshole."

"You are all insane.  _That's_  a metal bubble floating in a vacuum. At least on an airship, we won't suffocate if it gets a hole punched in the hull."

"We'll also fall a couple thousand feet."

"You're a wizard; just cast a flight spell." Rill pointed to Maera. "And she's got wings."

" _You_  don't."

"That's what you wizards are for."

"I should feel insulted by that."

"Do I look like I care?"

Maera sighed and rubbed her temple. "Rill, just get on the damned ship."

The kor crossed his arms. "And how, pray tell, are you going to make me?"

Maera planted her fist on her hip. "I'll grab you by the back of your pants and  _drag_  you on."

Rill looked her up and down. "I rather doubt you'd be able to do that."

"You really want to bet on it?"

"I'd bet a hundred pounds that you're bluffing."

"Rill, I've hauled asses that weigh more than yours. Gideon, after Nissa drank him under the table comes to mind, for example."

"Dragging a drunk Planeswalker out of a bar and a sober monk into a can of air in space are two  _entirely_  different things."

Maera pointed to the ceiling. "I hate to tell ya this, but we're  _already_  floating around in a tin can of air in space. It called the entire damned station."

Rill's eye twitched. "Don't. Remind. Me."

Maera smirked in satisfaction. "Point is, you're not really changing anything."

" _This_  place doesn't look like it was thrown together from a trash heap, at least." Rill grumped.

" _I take offense to that!"_

The kor rolled his eyes. "Does it have a mute button?"

" _I have a gender! And it's not 'it'!"_

Maera kicked the bulkhead. "Shaddup. Rill's just being Captain Crankypants again."

"I'm  _not_  a crankypants!"

"Then why're you bitching about  _everything_?"

"I don't bitch about  _everything_. Just this gods-forsaken plane."

Maera rolled her eyes. "Seriously, Rill. We're haring off into the core of the galaxy to take on...well, their space mafia, basically, and bring back a friend of ours. You already said you'd come with."

"Yes. But that was  _before_  I knew we'd be getting there in a tin can filled with air that looks like it's being held together with duct tape and paper clips."

" _I_ _can hear you, you know."_

Maera ignored the ship. From the looks of it, so did Szord and Rill. "Well, it's either that or 'walk off ad hop that when you get the signal you can actually  _aim_  well enough and just happen to show up were we are."

"I'll take my chances."

Maera groaned and bonked her head on the doorjamb. She was about to speak when someone new spoke up. "For Azura's sake Rill, just get on the damned can. Or I'll help Maera throw your cranky ass on board."

She looked up again, and saw another familiar face. Dusky, silvery blue-gray skin, snow-white hair cropped in a short, boyish cut, lilac eyes, and lavender-toned lips. She wore leather armor underneath her traveling cloak, with the pouches of her trade hooked to her belt. Her ears came to a slight, rounded point, rather than tapering to a graceful tip like a full-blooded elf. Her arms were crossed, and her snowy brows were knit in a frown over those lilac eyes.

Dione Desidenius of Nirn was scowling right at Maera. The half-fae's response was a grin, followed by running up an glomping the slender woman. "Dione!"

"Ackgh! Stop squeezing; I can't breathe!" Dion gasped. She held her ribs when Maera let go. "Good to see you, too. I didn't believe Belinda when she said you'd lost an arm. Which brings me to my next question;  _how the hell did you lose a fucking arm?!"_

Maera smiled sheepishly and looked away. "Uh..." She rubbed the back of her neck. "Annoyed Bolas. On Amonket. It went badly.

"No, rally." She deadpanned. "Maera, say still for a moment."

Maera blinked at her. "...why?"

"This." She headslapped the half-faerie upside the back of he head."

"Ouch! What the hell was that for?!"

"Whatever mess you've managed to get yourself ass-deep in. "Also...She headslapped Maera again.

" _Ow,_  dammit! What's  _that_  one for?!

" _That_  is from Belinda. She thinks you're an idiot too, by the way."

Maera blinked owlishly at the half-elf dunmer. "I know. She told me over the phone."

"Good. Then we're on the same page." Dione started past Maera and towards the ship. "Now let's get this over with so we can get back home. I'm already not a fan of this plane."

Rill jabbed a finger at  _Sleipnir._  "You're  _still_  not getting me on that can."

Dione rolled her eyes. "Maera, you think you can handle his right side?"

"Positive."

"Good." Dione strode up and grabbed Rill by the armpit. "You're coming."

Rill scowled. "You  _aren't_  dragging me onto that  _thing_."

Maera looped her arm under his right one, catching him in a clamp. "That's  _exactly_  what we're doing."

"Ohhh, no. No, nope, this is  _not_  going to happen. Hells no—" The kor dug his heels in, or at least tried to; unsuccessfully. Maera and Dione dragged him over to the ship and up the ramp. "I'm not— _there is no way you're getting me on that thing! Put me down, damn it!"_

"Szord, lock the door!" Maera called once the two women had dragged Rill—kicking and screaming, literally—aboard the ship. The drow nodded and keyed the lock, and the hatched cycled shut and locked. Rill heard it and stopped, to shoot a murderous glare back at the drow behind him. Szordree just smiled and waved.

"I hate you all." Rill grumbled. He didn't continue resisting, so Maera and Dione let him go. "You kow that? You're all evil. Pure evil."

"Love you too." Maera grinned. A face poked down from the ladder; it was X'vir, with his oversized ears twitching. "What's up?"

"We're getting ready to shove off. Ganneth and Nasala're in the cockpit getting permission from flight control to head out." The diminutive Azeran surveyed the quartet. "This everyone?"

"Yep. We can do introductions upstairs."

"Great. Now get up here; I need  _someone_  to act as a buffer, because Tone's getting their panties in a knot about the state of the medbay."

" _I do_ _not have my panties in a knot!"_

X'vir raised an eyebrow. "See what I mean?"

"Yeah, yeah." Maera waved her hand at him. "We're coming up, so scootch."

X'vir gave a jaunty salute and disappeared. "Well, looks like we're about to clean up another mess you've gotten yourself into." Dione sighed. "Do I even  _want_  to know?"

Maera shrugged as she started up the ladder. "Not really, no." She replied.

Behind her, she heard the dunmer let out a long-suffering groan. Followed b Szordree saying, "Don't worry. It could always be worse;  _you_  could've been the one with your arm blown off."

Maera kicked her foot out at him. "You're no helping! Now get your drow ass up here! And drag Rill, while you're at it."

" _I can hear you._ "

Rill's protest was ignored as Szord said something rude in drow. Maera just blew a loud raspberry down at him as she ascended to the upper deck.

_**-XXX-** _

**U** nlike the last time she'd tried leaving a station—almost a month ago now, when she'd first arrived on Etrides covered in her own blood and missing an arm—their departure from Saiyani Spaceport went smoothly, and now they were cruising at FTL in the aether highway.

For now, there wasn't much to do other than sleep, surf the 'net, or (in Rill's case) argue with the ship's AI.

Maera entered her quarters on board, dimming the light to candelight-level. She wished she could have  _actual_  candlelight right now, but he doubted it would be a particularly good idea to have an open flame on a ship where a good many things were potentially flammable. As well as the fact that, as Rill had pointed out (vehemently), they were indeed in a floating bubble of metal surrounded by vacuum.

She unbuckled her belt, setting her katana Icefire and her wakizashi Black Ice in the alcove next to her bed carefully, so she'd be able to grab the quickly if she had to. The tantô in her ankle sheath she undid from its strap and slid under her pillow, and she perched herself cross-legged on her bed. She laid her staff across her knees, closing her eyes and letting the tension in her body relax, leaning against the durasteel of the wall behind her.

Meditation wasn't exactly something she did regularly—or, for that matter, at all. But right now she had nothing but time, ans she wasn't going to get anywhere if she kept on chasing thoughts around in her head, hoping that if she went over everything enough a solution to her predicament wold magically appear. She had to do  _something_ , and she figured taking Rill's advice to look inside herself and see where that led. She had no idea if it would work, but whatever came of it had to be better than the butkis she'd come up with so far.

So here she was, siting on her bed with eyes closed, telling all the thoughts running around to get lost so she could focus on...nothing. She let the rumble of _Sleipnir_ 's FTL drive lull her into a zen-like, semi-awake state, focusing on it and her breathing.

And, for the first time in a long time, she ignored her head...and followed her heart, wherever it led. O find out what it meant to be a Planeswalker.

And entered her inner world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the double-post; the last one got lost in the hectic that is NaNoWriMo, on top of two jobs and rampant computer problems that started towards the beginning of November. Still, I somehow managed a little over 41k words last month, woo!


	11. Inner World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maera does a little self-reflecting. And puts a hole in a wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The usual disclaimer; I don't own Magic: the Gathering, as it belongs to Wizards of the Coast. I also don't own Bleach, which is where the whole "inner world" concept in this chaper comes from.

 

**Maera**  opened her eyes, and she was sitting cross-legged on her bed.

It wasn't the bed in her quarters aboard  _Sleipnir_ , though she knew that's where she still was physically. This was  _her_  bed, at home. She was sitting in the middle of the mattress, wrist resting easily on her knee, and her staff laid across her lap.

No, wait;  _wrists._  Here in her mind, she still had both arms. Both very whole, very  _there_ , flesh-and-blood arms. She looked around, both knowing intimately and not recognizing her surroundings Nostalgia filled her. This wasn't just her room...this was  _her room._  The bedroom she'd grown up in, back in her hometown on Terrestiel. The home she hadn't been to in  _years_.

It looked the same, but at the same time it was completely different. What she remembered were the furnishings of a preteen, the floor covered in a mess of books and dirty clothes and stuffed animals. The manifestation of her room in her head was still mess, but it was the mess of her adult self, her mind littered with the accumulation of the nearly fifteen years since she'd last seen the physical space.

There were two windows, as she remembered; one on the north wall to her right, and one on the east wall she was facing, both framed by galaxy-patterned curtains. The door was to her left, and the loft bed on which she was perched was situated the same way her bed growing up had been. There was even an overly-tall nightstand with a lamp to her left, both of which (minus the height, in the nightstand's case) twins to the ones in her childhood bedroom. She already knew where the closet and dresser were without looking, just as she knew this room so very, very well.

Yet...it wasn't the same. It was familiar, yet  _very_  different.

For example, the old school desk in the northeast corner was gone. In its place there was a corner computer desk, with a closed laptop on top of it. There were papers and pencils strewn all over it, folders filed in its shelves, full of finished and half-done drawings...and  _books_. So many books.

The corner opposite was similarly different; growing up she'd had one small, three-shelf bookcase there...which even then hadn't been enough to store  _all_  of her books. That was still the case now, despite the fact that the corner was no home to not one, but  _two_  floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, taking up the bare wall space to either side of them. They were  _full_  of books, all from her real-world collection.

And the walls...all those years ago, they'd been plastered with posters of bands she'd liked and actors she'd had young-girl crushes on. Okay, so she still liked Simple Plan and Evanescence, but now those posters were replaced with ones of Ravnica, Zendikar, Nirn, Innistrad, Kamigawa...and, yes, next to her nightstand, Etrides. All of which were planes she'd been to, at some point or another.

Maera unfolded her legs and set the staff on the ground, leaning it against the bed frame as she climbed down from the loft bed. Underneath there were more loaded bookshelves and a pair of beanbag chairs...and a photo album. One that had her scrawl written across it, with a picture of herself and the rest of her friends on the cover, one she'd taken at the last New Year's celebration at Belinda's.

She picked it up and flipped through. It was full of photos, more than the book should have been able to hold—but, it wasn't a physical album, either. It was a manifestation in her headspace, a mental representation of her memories, one that she could pick up and handle here in the world of her mind.

She sat cross-legged in one of the beanbags, paging through the album. In it was everything from meeting her childhood friends—Nikolas Ivano the shadow nymph, Lise Soryen the drow, and Darren Asgard the dork of a vampire—to high school when she'd met Bels..to her Sparking.

Maera was an...oddity. She'd always believed in magic, even while the children on her world outgrew their magical sight. Even into high school and adulthood she retained her knowledge of the magical world, even as she remained—as far as she'd known—a normal human.

And then...she'd met Belinda and then Karr, both Planeswalkers. Shortly after, her own dormant faerie blood had begun to manifest, and she'd quickly gone from an outside observer to a battlemage. After years of being one of the 'muggles' protected by the magical nastiest, she hadn't thought when she decided to start putting herself in the line of fire.

She hadn't known what it was getting into. Even as, ten years after her first lessons in spellcasting, she finally Sparked. And promptly landed, quite literally, on Jace on Ravnica.

She traced the scar over her eye at seeing the image of Gideon, Chandra, Jace, Nissa, herself and Bels on Zendikar after taking down the Eldrazi. Liliana early in the morning, right before Maera had had to run for her life from the sleep-deprived necromancer. Ral with his hair in a sparking afro, after electrocuting himself for the umpteenth time.

Rill and Dane and Lini and Sorin and Amanisa...and Allandir, when she and Bels had been pulled back in time to seal away a demon that had threatened their home plane. When Allandir had passed his staff on to  _her._

All of them.  _All_  of the friends she had made over the years, all the things she'd been through with them were recorded in this book of memories. Every single one, from when she'd started kindergarten to the disaster of Amonkhet were symbolized as photographs in her mind.

"And it's still not full."

She'd never heard the voice before, but at the same time she  _knew_ it. She didn't know how, but she did. She looked up and was faced with...a reflection.

He was tall, brown-haired, blue-eyed, freckled, and built like a tank. He wore...mage robes from Nirn, which in the modern Terrestiel surroundings looked very out of place. He looked more like he belonged in the College of Winterhold, than in the bedroom doorway from Maera's childhood.

But, as she studied his features, she saw more of  _her_  in this young man standing in her doorway. He stood like she did, frowned like she did...even wore the same glasses as her. If she didn't know any better, she'd have said that he was her twin brother, if she'd had one.

His mouth quirked up in a smirk. "Now you're getting it." He rocked back on his feet. "Or, this is what you'd look like if you were a guy."

Maera nodded slowly and rose. "...I've never met you before."

"But I've always been here."

Again she nodded. "Yeah...I...know..." A pause. "Uhh...who  _are_  you?"

He raised his eyebrows and shrugged. "You tell me." He said. "After all, I'm the manifestation of  _your_  power."

Maera blinked. "My...huh."

"I'm pretty sure I didn't stutter."

Maera held up a hand and shook her head. "No, it's just..." She ran her other hand through her hair. "I'm talking to myself.  _Literally_  talking to myself."

"Well, a  _part_  of yourself, anyway." He corrected. "Like I just said, I'm the manifestation of your power within your own mind. The rest of it is, well..." He waved a hand, encompassing the bedroom. "That's all you."

Maera gave a nod. "Then why isn't the  _rest_  of my psyche represented as people?"  _Other than the fact that it'd be crowded as hell, if each facet of my personality was a being._

He shrugged, holding his hands up in an 'I dunno' gesture. "My running theory? Magic has a life of its own, and as a result one's magical ability does too." He shrugged again. "But I don't need to tell you that what makes magic  _magic_  is kind of...wibbly."

Maera snerked. That it was. "So...since you're the manifestation of my power, you've got some sort of idea of what's been off...right?"

The look he gave her didn't just say no...it  _screamed_  it. Maera groaned and hung her head.  _"Why."_

"Hey, this is your head."

She flipped him off. She pinched the bridge of her nose and strode over to him. She squinted. "You look like shit."

"No. Really." Her...companion's tone was deadpan. Thunder crashed outside, and Maera started—she hadn't noted the storm outside. He snorted a laugh. "It's been like that for a while." A beat. "Since Amonkhet."

Maera's mouth went into a thin line. That was when her magic got all screwed up. She rubbed her shoulder, her right arm tingling—a ghost of it exploding in a shower of blood and bone and flesh. "Can't imagine why." She muttered, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She shook her head. "Sooo...the storm's what's wrong with my magic. Why it's all screwy."

He raised an eyebrow. "Not...exactly."

"Aren't  _you_  my magic? Don't you know what's going on?"

"Yes...and no." He made a face and rubbed the back of his neck. "It's...hard to explain." He sighed. "This isn't  _entirely_  your mind, and I'm not exactly the one in charge."

Maera let out a breath and rubbed her temples.  _All this esoteric shit is why I do labs and explosions. Straightforward shit._  "Okay. How is this all in my head and yet  _not_?"

Her male 'double' made an 'ehhhh' gesture. "It's...weird. It's your inner world." He replied. He pointed to her head. "It exists as much in here," his hand lowered to point at her heart, "as in here. It's where everything about you is kept in some kind of incarnation. Your hopes, your fears, likes and dislikes, even your subconscious is represented somewhere in this inner world."

Maera grunted and nodded, looking around her bedroom again. Thunder crashed again, followed by lightning. "And mindset."

"Yeah. And that."

It explained the book of memories, the posters, the drawings, the metric fuckton of books on the shelves, and the mix of old memories and new possessions. Despite not having seen her childhood home in years, she'd immortalized it in her heart and it had grown as she had.

It gave Maera a case of the warm fuzzies. A case that was muted by the amount of thunder, lightning, and rain going on outside.

She scowled at the windows. "It sounds like that storm's trying to churn itself up into a tornado."

"Coming from the one who's been  _running around in circles_ , it's not a surprise."

Maera, being the mature adult she was, blew a raspberry at him. "If this storm is in my head—and frankly, you look like shit too—"

"Thanks for your ringing endorsement."

"—I need to confront it. It's not a normal storm that'll stop on its own, I'm gonna have to give it a nudge." She eyed her 'twin' up and down. "That storm and your state are connected, since this is where my  _self_  lives and you're part of that."

"Yeah."

Maera's eyes drifted to the stairs across the hall. "And since it's my head, I'm the one in charge...I make the rules. You live by them."

"And try to point out which rules are kind of dumb."

"Are you my common sense, or my magic's manifestation?"

"Yes. And speaking of common sense, you should listen to yours a bit more often. Probably'll help with the whole blowing-your-face-up problem."

"Har-dee-har." She nodded to the hallway behind him. "The rest of the house part of my inner world too? Or is it just my old bedroom?"

He shook his head as they headed down the hall and down the stairs. "It's all here, far as I know." He paused. "Y'see...the thing about someone's inner world is it shows who they  _really_  are, whether they know it or not. Or want to  _admit_  it or not; I can guarantee you'll find things in here that you probably don't  _want_  to find.

"If someone's powerful enough, that power—whether it's magical, spiritual, or otherwise—will often manifest as a being in that world—like me, here. But whether there's a manifestation or not it reveals every bit f them, no matter how buried it is. Every facet of a person's inner world is a facet of  _them._ " A beat, during which thunder crashed again. "Including weather."

Maera nodded, taking it in. From the stairwell, she could see the entryway and living room. The entryway had coats hanging up and shoes scattered, the ones she didn't recognize she assumed were her companion's. The hall that passed the living room and led to the kitchen didn't have the computer desk along the stairs, anymore—it was taken up by another bookshelf, it too laden with books. The living room was located through a large arching doorway, opposite the stairwell; it still contained the ugly, paisley-patterened sofa, two big squishy armchairs, a coffee table to one side of the room strewn with sketchbooks and pencils and yet more books, and the lamps next to the furniture. Even the familiar entertainment center was there, complete with TV and movies.

But, it had been updated as her room and the hallway had been. The armchairs were black and dark blue, and the drapes on the windows matched the galaxy-patterned curtains in her bedroom. The rug on the floor, rather than blue, was done in a night sky pattern to compliment the drapes. Mess was strewn about the floor, looking like he general disorder of someone living in the house.

Or simply a reflection of the garbage that usually floated around in Maera's head on a daily basis. It was a toss-up.

She could see the storm even better through the large living room windows; rain lashed them violently, so much so that even when the lightning flashed all she saw of the trees were dark blurs. The panes rattled as the wind howled outside. If anything, the storm was worse down here on the ground level than it was in her bedroom upstairs.

Whatever was wrong, the deeper she went the worse it was. Something deep, _deep_  down was indeed broken. And Maera didn't like it.

The young woman readily admitted that she didn't have all her shit together (any look inside her lab on Ravnica would show anyone  _that_ ), and that she was in reality a hot mess in human form. But it was a...well, a  _mostly_  controlled chaos. The fact that there was silent, unnoticed damage lurking in her psyche was...disturbing.

And the fact that she  _didn't know abut it_  until now frustrated her. The chaos of battle didn't bother her, and she lived in a constant case of controlled chaos normally. It was something that came with being a Planeswalker, or so she'd told herself. But this...this she hadn't known about it. It made her wonder how long it had been going on, and whether she should've stopped and tried entering her inner world earlier.

Either way, she could see the signs  _now_ , in the storm outside and mess inside. Her mind, conscious and unconscious, was a flying mess.

It was related to her lost connection to her magic. She knew it. She didn't know  _how_  she knew it. Maera swallowed; if this had been lurking in her being, getting worse over time...

"No." She started, almost tripping over her feet and landing face-first on the tile of the kitchen floor. "There's been storms before, but none this bad or this long. And your brain is usually a gods-forsaken mess, but it and the storms have been worse since the Amonkhet disaster. And they've been worsening as time goes on."

Maera glowed at the young man as she took a seat at the kitchen island. "It's  _really_  freaky when you do that."

He shrugged, putting on water for tea. "I live in your soul, which means I live in your head. It shouldn't come as a surprise that I can read your hot mess of a mind."

Maera stuck her tongue out at him. As he moved about the kitchen, she got a better look at him; his skin wasn't just pale like hers, it was waxy and sallow, as if he were ill. There were dark bags under his eyes, and the slope of his broad shoulders wasn't relaxed; they sagged and slouched, looking less like he was chill and more like he was tired and in serious need of a good rest. His hair stuck up in back, making Maera wonder when the last time he'd used a hairbrush was.

In short, saying he'd looked like shit earlier was an understatement; he looked like walking  _death._ A tingle ran down he right arm, reminding her that in the real world it wasn't there. She remembered how twisted and knotted up her magic was, and how she couldn't draw mana and her spells went haywire when she tried to cast. Something in her mind clicked, and the words jumped out of her mouth almost faster than they came to mind. "You look fucked up because my magic's fucked up."

He paused. Then smiled. It was tired, and didn't do anything to help him look less like a corpse, but it was real this time. No sarcasm present. "Exactly."

Maera got up. "Here, let me." She strode around the island and took the teapot from him. "Take it from someone who  _has_  dumped boiling water down her front, you don't want that to happen." She pointed to her newly-vacated seat. "Sit. Before you collapse."

He held up his hands in an 'I surrender'. "If you insist."

"If you don't I'll sit on you."

He sat. "You figured out what's wrong."

Maera grunted and pulled a box of tea from a cupboard—earl grey, one of her favorites. "Yeah. My magic's sick, hence  _you're_  sick." She spooned a healthy amount of tea leaves into the strainer in the pot before pouring the boiling water over them. "And my spellcasting's showing it. And the storming outside is part of it too, the whole fucked up mess my magical innards are in."

He winced. " _Thank_ you for that image. Not sure when my appetite's going to come back after that."

Maera snorted and set the pot between them, pulling out a pair of mugs. She handed one to him before taking a seat again. "I..." She trailed off, chewing her lip. She didn't want to admit it, even though she knew she had to.

He arched an eyebrow, reaching for the teapot. He poured himself a cup, nodding in approval at the smell of bergamot. "And?"

Maera ran a hand through her hair and poured her own cup. "Ever since things went sideways on Amonkhet, I...haven't been sure. About a lot." She chewed her lip, not wanting to voice the thought. Because voicing it meant admitting it was true, admitting that there might not be a fix.

"I'm...afraid."

He was taking a drink of his tea. With slow, deliberate movements he lowered his mug and wrapped his hands around it. "You've been afraid before. Weren't you the one who said that the reason you fought so hard and so well was  _because_  you were afraid of dying?"

Maera shook her head. "This is different." She pulled her feet up onto the stool, drawing herself in. She raised the mug of tea, the warmth seeping into her hands. "That fear in battle is logical, and purely for self-preservation. I'm afraid of dying, so I funnel that fear into anger, and when I get angry I tend to hit whatever's making me angry. Like whatever's trying to kill me."

Her companion grunted. "Or whoever just jumped out of a closet with a Grim Reaper mask."

Maera gave him a deadpan look. "Oh shut up."

His eyebrow cocked and he quirked an amused smile at the corner of his mouth as he raised his tea mug. "What makes  _this_  fear different?"

Maera didn't answer right away. She took a drink of her tea, holding the liquid in her mouth, taking the moment to savor the taste of the bergamot as she thought about her answer. She wasn't really sure  _how_  to place it, really...and that frustrated her almost as much as the fact that it existed in the first place. She swallowed, speaking slowly. "It's...at myself." She said, quietly. "At my power, at my abilities..." She took a breath, her mouth dry. "Afraid that, even will all  _this_ ," she motioned to the world around her, "it's just...gone. For good. That I won't be able to use magic again. And that if I  _can_  cast, what it'll do..."

She cut herself off, biting down hard enough on her lip for her to taste blood. Her hands shook, and she put the mug down on the counter before she dropped and broke it. The fear that her magic was screwed up beyond repair, that she'd been pushing to the back of her mind...she had to admit it now. And she hated it.

More than that, she hated that it seemed like she couldn't  _do_  anything about it.

A hand came into her vision, the owner placing it over hers. "Hey. If it was permanent, I wouldn't be here. Your inner world would be empty, and you'd just be punching holes in the walls."

Maera looked up at him through her hair. "You sound like you're trying to tell me that just  _talking_  to you is helping."

"Solving." He gave her a small smile, tired as it was. "Just making the decision to  _look_  for me has done more towards repairing your connection to your power—to  _me—_ than you know." A beat. "And it's not like you haven't faced steep odds before. Zendikar comes to mind."

Maera nodded. He wasn't wrong...the battle at Sea Gate was what they'd named their little group after; the Gatewatch. It had been a spur-of-the-moment naming, but one that seemed to fit all the same. They'd first come together—Jace, Nissa, Gideon, Chandra, Belinda, Karr and Maera—to take on the Eldrazi. It had been the planning that had gone into it and their combined power that had allowed them to first trap and then  _destroy_  Ulamog and Kozilek.

They'd had similar successes on Innistrad and Kaladesh, neutralizing Emrakul on the former and driving Tezzeret to retreat from the latter. And in the case of Kaladesh, they wouldn't have even  _gotten_ involved if it weren't for the past baggage that Jace—and Liliana—had with the bastard. If Maera ever got her hands on the sicko, she'd take that metal arm and stick it up his—

" _Image not needed._ " Her companion rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger. "I get it. You want to do evil things to Tezzeret. He's not the point here, though."

Maera's mouth went into a thin line. He was right; she forced her mind back on topic. Back on the disaster that had been Amonkhet.

As an artist, Maera thought it was a beautiful plane. Or it  _had_  been, until Bolas loosed the hordes of lazurite-armored undead on the populace, effectively turning the city of Naktamun into a necropolis.

The six of them had still been riding the high from their previous successes; they'd proven to be a good team, blending their individual skill sets and experiences to take on different brands of nasty. It seemed coutnerintuitive to stick a reckless pyromancer, shady necromancer, shy elf, awkward mind mage, charismatic heiromancer and smartass artificer together, but that was  _exactly_  what made them so effective; their dynamics. They'd  _thought_  it would be enough to best Bolas, or at least give him a bloody nose.

But it hadn't. Instead,  _everything_ that could have possibly gone wrong did, and they didn't just lose. They'd gotten  _destroyed_ , and Maera had watched s each of her friends had been beaten, one by one, and had been forced to emergency-'walk away.

Her grip on her mug tightened. She still heard Jace's scream. Saw Nissa's face contort in agony, the plane's magic so twisted and mangled by Bolas's meddling that it physically  _hurt_  the elf to touch the leylines so much that she  _couldn't_  scream.

A phantom burning rippled through the nerves of her arm, reminding her how  _she'd_  been thrown across the Eternities to Etrides. She'd reached out, using a spell that she'd never cast before and wasn't sure she could handle—not much unlike how her Spark ignited, now that she thought about it. She'd been intending to us a variation of that spell to literally set the  _blood_  in the Elder Dragon's veins  _on fire._

Instead, Bolas hadn't just noticed what she was trying to do...he'd been  _amused_  by it. He countered the spell as easily as he batted away a fly, catching and redirecting it back at her. Maera suspected he'd held back on purpose, given that it had only been her arm blown away. If he hadn't, even the hasty, imperfect ward wouldn't have stood a chance against the hijacked spell. The result had ended up with the arm she had been using to cast exploding into a burning red mist.

" _It's a shame you'll never know how much you could do, little faerie."_

Rage and the now-familiar frustration bubbled up inside her. He'd won. He'd beaten them  _all_. Jace's mind had been scrambled. Nissa had been poisoned by the plane's messed-up mana. Maera had been magically crippled, and she had no idea what had become of Chandra or Gideon.

And Liliana? She'd run. She'd bailed on them when they were being overrun by the dead, reanimated by Bolas, and left them to take on the asshole Elder Dragon and his zombie army alone.

They'd  _lost_. Bigtime. And now the rest of them were only the gods knew where.

_Hells, I might even be the only one still alive. For all I know, the others could've ended up blind 'walking into the caldera of an active volcano, or just gotten lost in the Eternities. I might be the only one who was lucky enough to make it to another plane._

Her grip relaxed on the mug, her shoulders sagging as the thought sunk in. Now that she was in her inner world, there wasn't a whole lot she could do to distract herself from the horrible possible truth. Just like the fact that maybe, just  _maybe,_  she was cut off from her magic altogether.

That she'd never be  _able_  to draw mana again. The hell with what her new companion said. The thought hit her like a sledgehammer, right to the chest.

It scared her.

She didn't like being scared. She usually punched or exploded or threw something at what scared her. But she knew that this was  _one_  fear that she couldn't fix by throwing an artronach at it.

Which just made her more scared. And then more mad. And then more scared...and created a positive feedback loop. She balled her hand into a fist and punched the counter top, swearing in elvish.  _"Fucking hell!"_

Across the table, he didn't reply. Just let Maera go, yelling and swearing and cursing the various higher powers, the Blind Eternities, the Multiverse as a whole, and punching the wall until the steam was blown off. And until there was a fist-shaped hole in the aforementioned wall.

It was several minutes before the rage was blown off, her head cooled enough to  _think_. She was standing in the middle of the kitchen, her fist bloodied from putting the  _hole_  in the  _wall_. As well as several more dents. Tired out and with much less steam and marginally less rage, she sank back down on her barstool and put her head in her hands. "Fuck. Flying fucknuggets. I hate this shit."

Still, the manifestation of her power remained silent. She kicked at the island, weakly. "Fuck this shit. Just...fuck it." She looked up at him through her fingers. "Well? Why aren't you saying anything?"

He just peered over his mug at her. Finally, he let out a breath and set down the mug of tea, pulling off his glasses and cleaning them with the hem of his robe. "Sometimes, you need to have a breakdown. And swearing, screaming, and punching a hole in the wall definitely qualify."

Maera gave him a deadpan look. "I  _normally_  punch holes in walls." Jace had even framed one she'd left at his place, for shits and giggles. It had been made purely by accident, but the look on Gideon's face when she had had gotten everyone dying of the giggles.

"Not like that.  _That_ was all the things you  _were_  bottling up." He replaced his glasses. "Though seeing the damage you did to your  _fist_  at the same time, it might not be a bad idea to invest in a punching bag..."

Maera looked sheepishly at the hole and dents in the wall, then at her bloodied knuckles. She felt her ears reddening. "Um. Oops."

"Don't apologize. Gimme your hand." She obliged. "Damage to the wall and your hand notwithstanding, you feel better, right?"

Maera nodded as the young man examined her hand. "Yeah. Like I just got done killing a bunch of shit in a video game."

He grunted, eyes glowing blue. "Well, you certainly killed the shit out of the  _wall._ " Maera felt a coolness creep over her hand as the magic healed the damage. "And I'll bet that that's the first time you've felt like that since the Amonkhet fiasco."

Maera opened her mouth to reply, but then closed it. Then thought about it. He wasn't wrong...and it wasn't just because she hadn't played any video games since landing on Etrides either.

Blowing shit up in video games didn't do a whole lot when the frustration was directed at  _yourself._  Even if the bulk of the rage is for certain dragons with ego issues.

Ah, the bottling up of self-doubt and rage. If Maera needed any more proof that there was English in her, that was it.  _Emotional constipation, thy name is Maera._

She watched the wounds heal from her companion's spell. "I hope I didn't kill a few neurons while I was wailing on the wall."

"Doubt it." He let go of her hand, and the woman flexed her fingers and fist. No soreness, and not even a scar or bruise left from the wall-punching. "Those'll close up, and the wall shouldn't be any worse for wear. This place can take more abuse than you think."

"You sound like you're speaking from experience."

"Because I am." He fiddled with his mug again, and gave her a gimlet glare. "You do the English proud with your case of emotional constipation."

Maera snorted. "You're funny." She drained the last of her tea, then cocked her head quizzically. "You hear that?"

His brow furrowed as he quirked a confused eyebrow. "Hear what?"

"The storm it's..." Thunder rumbled, but it wasn't as loud this time. Quieter, muffled...as if it were at a distance. No lightning came, and the only sound was the rain hitting the windows. "It's calmer."

Her companion let out a sound somewhere between a grunt and a chuckle. "So it is." Another soft, distant rumble of thunder. The storm wasn't completely over, but it wasn't threatening to blow over the house like it had been earlier. "Still got a ways to go though."

Maera frowned, draining the last of her tea. She scowled at the empty cup, offended at it. "Don't know where to start, though. Withthe... _rest._ "

"Perhaps you should start by asking my name."

Maera paused as she reached for the teapot, to refill her cup.  _That's right. I never did._ "You never told me."

He shrugged, expression mild. He pushed his glasses up his nose, another  _very_  Maera-esque affectation. "You never asked."

Maera nodded slowly as she refilled her mug. She raised an eyebrow, then refilled her new friend's at his nod. Deliberately, she put down the teapot. "Well, I'm asking now. What's your name?"

He smiled, sitting back on his stool. "It's about time." He said, crossing his arms.

"Call me  _Taibhse."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: The word "Taibhse" is Scots Gaelic for "ghost". A bit of a nod to a favorite anime of mine, Ghost in the Shell. 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and giving kudos ^^. I'm doing a double post tonight, so expect two new chapters at once this time.


	12. Kicking Down the Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maera and Company do something profoundly stupid and insane. Because why the hell not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double update, as promised! As per usual, I don't own M:tG. I'm just playing in that Multiverse for fun.
> 
> And credit to GamerDragon13 for letting me borrow her fanwalker Dione Desidenius for this fic. For more on her--as well as a few other 'walkers of hers--I refer you to her Dragonborn Epic series.

**Maera**  opened her eyes, pulling herself out of the meditation and back to the present. She didn't  _feel_  very different, but she instinctively  _knew_  that something was. Not back to normal, not quite...but not as wrong as before.

She reached out with her senses, feeling for the mana around her. She found it, and rather than burning it came at her call, coming easily to her will. No, not that... _eagerly,_  as if it was  _asking_  to be used. She didn't hear it, but inside Maera was certain that Taibhse was snickering with that shit-eating grin of his. _Asshole._  She thought.  _Just like me. Makes sense, I guess._

_Eh. Well, I never have bothered making myself out to be anything else. Being an asshole is soooo much more fun than being one of those lawful-good types._

Maera uncrossed her legs, groaning as pins and needles erupted from her hips to her toes. Damn, she'd been sitting in that position for so long that her legs had fallen asleep. She checked her watch, and nearly choked when she saw that almost  _ten hours_  had passed since she sat down.

_It did not feel that long in my inner world. Da eff?_

_'That's probably because time in your head feels a lot different than in the outside world. You know, the whole "time flies when you're having fun" saying?'_

Maera rolled her eyes.  _Whatever_ , she thought back at him, grunting as she rose. She stumbled as she stood, her legs still waking up. She planted the staff— _her_  staff—to support her weight as circulation finished returning to her legs.

She glanced down at the stump of her shoulder, thinking.  _I wonder if..._

Almost faster than the thought crossed her brain, the spell jumped to her mind. Pure mana poured from the stump, forming itself into an arm made of pure magic. It looked like living crystal, and felt as natural as if it were made of flesh and blood...no, more so. She raised the magically-created right arm, flexing the fingers and studying it. It was a  _perfect_  replica of her natural arm, right down to the fingerprints and nails. When she moved her fingers, she could even see tendons moving under the blue-green, gossamer-like skin.

She just  _stared_  at the magical construct. The mana that made it up hadn't simply come at her call...it was as if it had been  _waiting_  to be put to use. The casting was as effortless as  _thinking._  Or  _breathing._

_So. Is this what Allandir meant when he said I was just scratching the surface of my abilities?_

Well, if it was, Maera was one hundred percent on board. She grinned, a cackle bubbling its way up.  _This_  was even better than before. Her ability to draw mana and cast spells was back to normal, and  _then_  some.

_I can live with that._

She picked her phone up out of the alcove and flipped it in the air once, before catching it and dropping it into her pants pocket. She grabbed her jacket off its hook and slung it over her shoulder, the staff in her new right arm.

_Time to start kicking down some doors._

**-XXX-**

**T** he blindfold fell from Zachar's eyes. He winced a the bright light hurt his eyes.

Once his eyes adjusted, a lump jumped to his throat. He forced it down, willing himself to ignore the fear. The cuffs still bound his wrists, and the aether-damping collar was still around his neck. He was already putting he spell together in his head, so that he could let it off the moment the collar was removed.

He wouldn't have much tie to do so, before the rest of the Hive poured into his head. Not a very big window.

Thankfully, he wouldn't  _need_  a very big window to start the cascade. Just a second...and he'd be able to trigger the simple, destructive spell he had built up. All that he needed was for the aether to flood in and fry the chip that would be in his brain, and the brains of the rest of the Hive along with it.

Sure, he'd be brain dead. But so would be ones calling the shots of the Inquisitorium. That was good enough for him.

_I'm going to take you bastards down with me._

He let himself be led to the operating room in the medical facility. He didn't struggle as they strapped him own to the table in the center of the OR, despite his instincts screaming at him to kick, scream, punch, and do anything possible to get away. Or get a blaster bolt through the head, rather than absorbed into the hive-mind of the darkest organization in the galaxy.

It wouldn't do him, or anyone else, any good if he was killed doing something he already knew was futile.

Still, his breath hitched in his throat as the magnetic cuffs were separated, only to be reactivated to secure his wrists to the sides of the operating table. Automatically, restrains bound his forearms, legs, thighs, and chest to the device.

He took several deep breaths to calm his nerves. It didn't do much, but at least it was better than screaming.

"It's good to know you took my advice." Sonna said from the doorway. "At least this way, you won't be in pain."

Zachar blinked at her. "Believe it or not, I'm  _not_  an idiot."

Sonna merely shook her head. "If that had been the case, you wouldn't have tried running in the first place." She turned her attention to the surgeon. "Notify me when you're done."

Zachar didn't see the surgeon's response, but apparently Sonna was satisfied because she left. The surgeon—a gaunt elf with a shaved head—came into his vision. He pulled a hoversled—presumably with his instruments over—before adjusting something on the table. The thing rotated as the gaunt elf spoke. "It's been a long time since I last saw you, young man." He paused. "Of course, back then it was young  _woman_."

The table halted, and Zachar was facing the floor. He shot the old elf as withering a glower as he could muster. "I've  _never_  been a woman."

The man hummed. "Your birth records disagree." He flipped a switch, and Zachar could hear the whir of a hypodermic coming to life. "Just keep still, and close your eyes. The anesthesia won't take long to take effect."

Zachar didn't reply. He closed his eyes and evened his breathing as the hypodermic entered his upper arm, injecting the sedative.

Like the doctor had promised, moments later he was out like a light.

**-XXX-**

" **T** hese here should let me keep an eye on your vitals." Tone said as they secured the band around Maera's upper arm—the left one, the one with the pulse. "It's also got a panic button built in. If thins go too hairy, press this—" they indicated what looked to be a fingerprint scanner, "—and  _Sleipnir_  will teleport you back aboard."

" _Which, I should point out, is a fairly new system. It hasn't had a chance to be tested yet, so I have no idea if it'll work."_ The AI added.  _"Grim decided to have that little upgrade added while my engines were being repaired from the pirate fiasco, but there hadn't been chance o get any tests run to make sure the magitech was working right before he was kidnapped. So don't be surprised if I can't pull you back if you hit the panic button."_

"Noted." Maera replied, examining the cuff. It looked like the sleeve Grimoire always wore, the one that had his personal computer—she assumed—housed in it. The others had matching cuffs, as well as magitech armor suits underneath their clothes, and each of them were wearing an earpiece that would allow them to communicate with each other, as well as with Tone and  _Sleipnir._  Maera had a slightly different model, one that hooked over her glasses where it would project a HUD.

Everyone except Tone was going into the base, the aetherborn having opted to stay aboard so they could keep an eye on everyone's vitals and locations. And so that there'd be someone left to operate  _Sleipnir_ 's weapons if they were found. The ship itself was going to have most of its focus on their life signs and keeping a teleporter lock on them, via the earpieces they wore and the wristbands Tone had given them.

"You sure the cloak will hold?"

Tone nodded, but  _Sleipnir_  was the one who spoke.  _"Of course. That circuitry was one of the few things that didn't' get fried to badly when we were yanked out of FTL."_ The AI's tone was offended.  _"Grimoire's been casting illusions over my hull for years, so it wasn't hard to adjust to your magical signature. It'll take literally no power to maintain it, trust me."_

"And even if he can't, I can pull from my own reserves." Tone added. "Now, get on the pad.  _Sleipnir,_  time to take your new teleporter for a run."

"You sure that fake moon's the right place?" Dione asked as she checked her gear. The dunmer was effectively wearing  _two_  layers of armor; the magitech bodysuit underneath her Nightingale armor. Her sword and thieves' tools were around her waist with her bow and arrows slung over her shoulder. Tone had scoffed at the sword and bow, but a glare from the dark elf had silenced the aetherborn.

Rill was standing with his arms crossed, the ever-present scowl on his face. Maera thought the kor looked like a sci-fi ninja; the armor suit fit his lean frame like a glove, and the black of it made his white skin stand out even more starkly. His hair was pulled into a low til in back to keep it out of the way, and the black gloves he wore were fingerless. He had a pair of wooden fighting sticks strapped to his belt, but apart from that he was unarmed.

Szodree had his mage robes over his armor, the collar peeking out from under his unbuttoned tunic. His adamanteum bastard sword was slung on his back, the House Wyndal visible on the hilt peeking over his shoulder. He leaned against the bulkhead, appearing asleep when Maera  _knew_  the drow was wide awake. Like Rill, Szord's arms were crossed, holding the adamanteum staff that matched his sword. His white dreadlocks were pulled back in his customary ponytail.

Nasala was wearing a loose tunic over her bodysuit, as well as a backpack slung over her shoulders. The kor woman held a black bandanna tied around her hair, as much to keep it out of the way as to make it harder to spot. Her black gloves had circuitry and runes stitched into the cloth, making Maera wonder if she was going in as a rescue or as an arcane hacker. She had a blaster strapped to her thigh.

X'vir just wore the armor and had a, well...basically a freaking blaster cannon. The giant weapon looked way to big for the small, lavender-skinned, green-haired, big-eared, fluffy-tailed alien, but the Azeran was holding it easily. He was busy adjusting his earpiece so it sat comfortably over his oversized, catlike ears.

Finally, there was Ganneth. The minotaur had a set of big, heavy boots on his hooved feet and had a jacket that was cropped in the front, long in back over his bodysuit. He had two blasters belted to his waist, and what Maera assumed was a sniper rifle slung over his shoulder. His headset was also a bit different from the others', likely act as a scope fro his rifle as well as a regular HUD.

Maera was pulling her long, brown hair back into a tight ponytail. The only difference her magitech suit had from the others' was the fact that it lacked a right sleeve, leaving the solid-magic arm free and despite the fact that it was skin-tight, it wasn't uncomfortable at all. She wore a pair of tall, heeled with hers and a black leather glove over her left hand. Strapped to her waist was a belt that held her katana and wakizashi on one hip, a blaster on the other, and a pouch at the small of her back held a collection of throwing stars she'd out of paper and inscribed with runes for a... _surprise_ , for whoever she threw them at. The different colors made them easy to tell apart, and each color meant a different effect.

Calling her a walking armory was...not wrong.

"You're certain you're up to this?"

Maera gave the cranky kor a nod. "More than ready." She said, standing. She grabbed the long, hooded coat hanging on the back of her chair ad pulled it on. It was bright blue, had a deep hood that hid her features, was sleeveless ad swept the ground around her ankles. She fastened the wide belt at the thing's waist and picked up her staff from where it was leaning against the bulkhead, striding to the small transporter platform.

Tone turned back to the controls. "I'll only be able to teleport you in twos," they said. "So I'd suggest casting some illusions once you get there so you're not detected right away."

"Got it." Maera stepped onto the platform, followed by X'vir. She nodded to the aetherborn that she was ready and pulled her hood up. "Let's go kick down their front door, shall we?"

**-XXX-**

**N** asala waved them forward. She'd been able to hack into the outer layers of security easily, and the doors swished open without a sound. Keeping the illusion up, Maera let the other go first before passing through herself. Nasala brought up the rear, disconnecting the thin wires fro the wall console.

" _It's going to be harder from here on,"_  the kor woman whispered. Maera and the others heard her voice clearly in the headset, though it was quiet enough to go undetected to anyone listening.  _"We'll do best to move fast and avoid fighting where possible. Then once we've go Z—Grimoire, we'll have to haul ass outta here."_

Maera nodded.  _"Hauling ass is something I'm far better at than I should be._ " Rill grumbled over the connection.

"You talking about putting up with Dane?"

A loud snort.  _"More like your insane ass."_

" _Let's just get moving. Before someone comes along and spots us."_  Ganneth paused, paying attention to something on his HUD.  _"Speaking of, if we_ _don't_ _move our asses we'll have company."_

"Noted," Maera cast out her senses, searching for the familiar arcane presence that was Grimoire. She hadn't known the guy for long, but she already considered him part of her friend group. She frowned, as she didn't sense him...or anything else. In fact, there was a  _giant_  gap farther in, where she couldn't feel  _any_  magical presences.  _I'll bet they're shielded from any spells in the center._  "Tone,  _Sleipnir_ , can you still hear me?"

" _Loud and clear hon,"_  the aetherborn replied.  _"Don't tell me you've already run into trouble."_

"No. There's a big blank spot farther in.  _Sleipnir,_  you know what that is?"

" _It's likely where the central command of the complex is. You'll have to fight your way past several layers of digital, arcane, and physical security. If Grim's being kept anywhere, it's there."_

Maera nodded. "Right. Guys," she addressed the rest of the group. "Get ready to split up. If there's multiple parties causing as much chaos as possible, it'll split these guys' attention all over the base."

" _There's no guarantee that'll make it easier on us,"_  Dione pointed out.  _"If these people are as organized as well as your new friends say they are, they're probably going to expect that and act accordingly."_

" _They're also pretentious assholes who think they've got the galaxy's best interests at heart, to hell with what anyone who calls them on their bullshit thinks."_  Tone pointed out.  _"They'll just treat your infiltration as they would a pest problem, because only someone who's an utter idiot would try and take them down by breaking down their front door."_

" _I'm sorry, but isn't that exactly what we're ding?"_  That was Rill again, exasperation dripping from his voice.

" _Well, yes. Bu that still doesn't nullify the fact that they're pretentious assholes, and who knows? Running up to their front door and setting off a giant bomb in their face might just use that against them."_

Dione hissed.  _"They sound like the Thalmor. Pretentious, self-righteous bastards..."_

" _Um, who're the Thalmor?"_

"A bunch of self-righteous high elf nazis who think they're better than all the other races because they're  _high elves."_ Maera replied, rolling her eyes. "And they've been trying to impose  _their_  beliefs on Dione's home  _and_  wipe out at least one  _other_  race of elves there, just to get their dumb point across."

" _Sounds like they'd get along great with the Inquisitorium."_

"They probably would." Maera turned to the others. "So, splitting up it is?"

" _It's a closest thing to a plan we've got."_ X'vir chirped.  _"Sleipnir should be able to keep our signal even through any shielding."_

" _It might get fuzzy, though. So do try and do this quick, all right? I don't want to be stuck with my proverbial thumbs tied if any o you lunatics get into a bind and I can't pull you out."_

"I'll keep that in mind." Maera laid a hand on Icefire's hilt. "We'll go in twos, then. Szordree, you stick with Dione and Rill. Ganneth, you're with Nasala. X'vir, you come with me."

" _Uh, no."_  Dione piped up as the others made sounds of assent.  _"Someone that small with a gun that big is setting off my lunatic alarms, and having fought with you before I know how insane you are. There is no way in Oblivion you two should be left unsupervised."_

" _I'll go with them."_  Rill said before Maera or the little Azeran could argue.  _"You can handle Szordree, right?"_

" _Hey! I take offense to that!"_  The drow in question protested.

" _Yes."_  Dione replied at the same time.  _"I work with Bels on a daily basis, and I run a guild full of thieves who are about as mature as your average ten-year-old. Keeping one pyromaniac dark elf with authority problems from blowing himself up is well within my repertoire."_

" _I can hear you." _Szordree grumbled morosely.

" _Let's just get going before we're noticed and worry about potential explosions later."_  Nasala said.  _"Ganneth's right; we'll be noticed before long. Hell, the fact that we've gone this long without meeting someone bothers me. Best to split up now and met up when we've got Grim."_

Sounds of assent came over the collective commlink. Without a word they split into their three teams, all heading on different routes into the center of the headquarters.

Maera activated the tracker on her HUD, showing where the others were in the fortress. She kept pace with Rill, continuing to prod around the arcane shielding around the center of the Inquisitorium's HQ. Their fly-by-the-seat-of-their-pants approach to rescuing their friend was a familiar one, one that Maera had doe several times before with different combinations of companions.

A grim, determined smile spread across her face.

_Once more unto the breach._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keep reading, y'all! And kudos and comments ALWAYS feel nice ^^~


	13. It's a Trap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things get kinda hairy for Maera and Co.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As per usual, I don't own anything you recognize. This may be a fan-plane and the story may revolve around fanwalkers, but this still exists in the MtG Multiverse, which I own none of. I simply created Etrides because I'm a giant nerd and want Planeswalkers in space, dammit!
> 
> And again, thanks to GamerDragon13 for lending me Dione. There's more about her in her fics, as well as a certain other fanwalker who keeps on getting mentions in this fic.

**Chapter Thirteen**

**It's a Trap**

" **I**  was halfway hoping they  _wouldn't_  take the bait. This is too easy." Evran sighed, setting down his coffee. "If this woman really is a  _plane walker_ , she doesn't seem very bright."

"You're only saying that because she broke your face." Sonna sighed. "Besides, it's likely at least some of her companions are like her and Zachar. If we capture them, it will go a long way towards understanding what this Spark is, and how best to neutralize it."

Evran grunted. He tapped his finger against his bicep, fidgety. Zachar Urin, his former apprentice and—even the seasoned Inquisitorium agent admitted it—skilled assassin and technomage was the latest inductee into the Hive. He glanced to his side, where the vedalken in question was standing, motionless; he wore the long, high-collared coat of the rest of the Hive, his arms folded behind his back. Evran wasn't even sure if Zachar was his  _name_  anymore, though he hadn't given any indication otherwise and didn't argue when they addressed him as such.

But when the vedalken  _did_  speak, it was clear that it wasn't just Zachar anymore. When Zachar spoke, the entire Hive spoke. He now had access to anything that any other member of the Hive thanks to the chip in his brain, as well as his own experience as a plane walker.

Which was why he had told them to simply to let this woman, this Maera Hellion, come running in through their front door, guns blazing. She had, and with several allies; Zachar had pointed out three of them as former allies of his, though he didn't recognize he others.

He  _did_  feel three  _new_  Sparks, however. Or at least, said he did. Which was why he had directed them not to adjust their plan, simply keep the employees on their usual rounds and not chance their security. And so, now they were watching three teams on three different monitors, observing their progress so they could act accordingly.

Whenever the hell  _that_ would be.

"Do you have additional security forces on standby?"

"Yes, sir." Sonna replied. "Several teams throughout the headquarters."

"Good. Give them the order now." A brief pause. "And be ready to take down the dampening field on our order."

The woman paused. "Z—Sir? Why?"

"We will confront Maera Hellion." The vedalken replied. "Zachar Urin is familiar with her, so we know a good deal about her. She will be unwilling to fight one she views as a friend."

Evran eyed the vedalken out of the corner of his eye. "Are you sure?"

"We are positive." He closed his eyes and tilted his head back slightly, as if calling forth an old memory. Or sensing for a magical presence...Evran himself ha very little talent with spells, though he had enough skill to be able to handle enchanted items. "The impressions Mister Urin has of her are those of a brash individual who is extremely protect of those she deems 'friend'. Often to her detriment."

Evran grunted again. "Yes, she  _did_  lose it when we took Mister Urin into custody."

Zachar didn't reply. Simply opened his eyes and strode towards the exit. "We will be waiting where planned. If possible, direct her towards there. If not, let us know and we will adjust accordingly."

"Yes, sir." Sonna replied, before giving the the order to the soldiers lying in wait.

"Agent Tarokis." Evran almost started as he was addressed. Almost.

"Sir?"

"We wish you to accompany us. As skilled as the troops are, they will be of little help against two Planeswalkers. If it does indeed come to a two-on-two battle, we believe it would be beneficial if you were there as backup."

Evran's mouth went into a thin line. Hive or not, he was still  _not_  comfortable bowing to the authority of someone who was young enough to be his son. Or daughter, or whatever gender the vedalken was going by now. Still, he kept the discomfort to the back of his mind and bowed his head. "Of course."

Zachar hummed. "Thank you, Agent Tarokis." He left the room. "We will be waiting at the planned location."

Evran nodded and left to change into something more...practical. As sharp as the high-collared leather coat and shiny shoes were, neither would be particularly helpful in a fight, and both would stand out far more than he was used to in battle. He didn't like it, but he would do his duty to protect a member of the Hive.

He checked his wrist chrono. It was barely half an hour since the plane walkers' poorly-planned assault began.

_Why are there still so many idiots in the universe...?_

**-XXX-**

**Z** achar was lost, fighting to maintain control of himself while the mass of the hive-mind reached into his head and pried apart his memories, absorbing them one by one.

It  _hurt._

He wanted to give up, to let the things that made up his being become one with the Hive. But he couldn't. He couldn't remember  _why,_  all he knew was that he  _couldn't let that happen._  That he had to do  _something_ , had to do  _anything_  to prevent these people from falling to the Inquisitorium.

He didn't know why he believed he should care about these few, insignificant people. Why he should prioritize these tiny beings more than the millions—no, billions... _trillions_  of others, but he did.

And he didn't want to see them hurt. Ever.

He had to do  _something_. But he didn't know what. Already the knowledge of what they were—or some of them, at least—had been absorbed into the Hive. They knew that the brunette, staff-carrying woman with the shining arm (she shouldn't have that arm. He didn't know why he thought that, though) was a Planeswalker. They knew what the Spark was, what it felt like because  _he_  knew what it felt like. He still felt  _his_  Spark burning bright within him.

It was why he was still Zachar Urin. Why he hadn't been sucked into the maw that was the collective consciousness of the Hive. He hung onto that for dear life. Despite the fact that his mind was in  _agony_ , he hung on.

_I am Zachar. I am male. I am a Planeswalker. I have a Spark. I care for these people. I will not let them fall._

It was a fight in his own brain between himself, and the mass of the Hive. And he was  _losing_.

When the Hive spoke through him, using the knowledge they had pulled from  _his mind_  to lay this trap, he wanted to scream. He wanted to scream and rage and pull out his daggers and plunge them into the throat of the nearest Inquisitorium agent, but he couldn't because he didn't have control of his own body. And he had no idea how to get it back.

All he knew was that somehow, some _way_ , he had to push back the Hie for long enough to tell his friends to  _run_ , to just blow the core of the base up with him on it. He was losing the battle for his individuality anyway, so it wasn't a loss to him.

_Just don't let these people be taken in. I care for them. I cannot let them be hurt._

The voices of the Hive go louder. His headache got worse.

_I must do something._

_But I can't. I'm trapped in my own mind. How do I do something to help these people?_

Against his will, his hand raised and activated a spell. It was a beacon, one that would undoubtedly attract these allies of his. These friends he had to protect. These friends the Inquisitorium was going to capture.

These new allies he hadn't met, but knew would die for him. Because  _that woman_  was his friend and coming for him.

_Maera. Her name is Maera. She is a Planeswalker. She is your friend._

A memory. A memory of a name. Mentally gritting his teeth, he latched onto it. He felt the whispers of his  _own_  memories, calling out to him as well, the names of the rest of the people coming to their doom. But he couldn't make them out; their faces came to mid, though. Alabaster skin and hair. Beastlike face and horns. Huge ears and green hair and small size. He knew these people. He would not see them hurt.

He curled his mind into a defensive ball, steeling what was left of Zachar against the tide of the Hive. He could not let himself be subsumed, not yet. Not until he had done  _something_  to save these people's lives. Not until he had done  _something_  to wound the Inquisitorium.

The hate bubbled up too, fighting through the ocean of the hive-mind, working its way into his own. He used it as mental armor to protect himself as much as he could.

_I will save you. All of you. I couldn't take down the Hive earlier..._

_I just have to stay me for long enough to let one of you know what to do._

**-XXX-**

" _ **F** IRE IN THE HOLE!"_

Maera ducked back behind her corner. Moments later, the explosion echoed down the hall. She pulled her fingers out of her ears and blinked the shock away. "Yeesh. The number of grenades that little guy has is a mite disturbing."

" _Now who else does that remind me of?"_

Maera blew a raspberry into the comm at Dione's comment. "I'm not as bad as this little shit."

" _No, you're not. You're worse."_

"Oy!"

" _Rill, back me up. Is Maera not worse than X'vir?"_

The kor first replied with a grunt, accompanied by the wet  _crunch_  of breaking bone.  _"She's a walking apocalypse."_

"I can hear you guys!"

" _And none of us care!"_

Maera blew another raspberry into the link before shooting back out of cover, towards the direction of the concussion. One of the dazed guards had enough time to get a bleary blink in before her elbow smashed into his face.

He went down with a satisfying  _thud._  He didn't look like he was getting back up.

She heard the  _click_  of a blaster behind her. Maera pivoted, drawing her sword and swinging it up and across in one smooth motion. The barrel of he blaster fell to the ground with a clatter. Maera grinned at the man's open-mouthed look of surprise.

Right before her fist plowed into his face. He joined the first goon on the ground for naptime.

Maera switched her sword to a two-handed grip, scanning around for any more goons. The hall was empty, save for herself, Rill, X'vir (who looked like a kid in a candy store, with the giant-ass grin on his face), and about a dozen unconscious guards in light armor.

She didn't relax. She kept on the balls of her feet, waiting for the next round.

It didn't come.

Maera lowered her blade, letting out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding as she sheathed Icefire. "Well. That was quick."

Rill grunted as he came up beside her. "They knew we were here."

Maera nodded, surveying the chaos. "I stinks, and it's got nothing to do with the beans last night." She muttered, idly kicking at one unconscious goon. He let out a low moan, but didn't wake. "At the risk of sounding like a certain fictional admiral, it's a trap."

"Certainly looks like one." The kor agreed, crossing his arms. X'vir joined them the...Maera called it a cannon, but the Azeran called it his 'sidearm', slung over his shoulder. Rill eyed the little guy. "There is something broken in you, X'vir. Even more than  _this_  one." He jabbed his thumb at Maera.

Maera replied with a middle finger. Rill ignored it.

X'vir shrugged. "I grew up with the adage of 'if you can't do it right, then don't do it at all'." He replied. "And, 'there's no such thing as overkill'."

Rill's eye twitched. Maera blinked at the Azeran before formulating a reply. "You are one strange, disturbing little man."

X'vir grinned at her. "Hey, sometimes the best solution to a problem is just to blow a big-ass hole in the door. He dropped the grin. "But I agree; this shit stinks, and it ain't from a blocked toilet. We were set up."

Maera grunted. She hovered her gaze over the minimap in her HUD, and it enlarged to show the entire complex. Or at least, what hey knew of it. She and her allies were highlighted in bright blue, where the goons were marked out in neon green. "We're not far from where we're headed. But there's a lot of goons between us and there."

"Then let's get going." Rill started off down the hall, in the direction that would lead them to the central hub. "If you still want your friend out of this place, that is."

"Right." She dismissed he map, following Rill. X'vir brought up the rear. Again, the half-fae extended her senses, but she still couldn't pick up anything other than hers and the rest of their group.  _I know this organization has casters. They've got to, if magic is as prevalent on this plane as I've been led to believe. It doesn't make sense if they don't._  She thought as they ventured deeper into the complex. And the deeper they went, the more goons they had to dodge.  _Grimoire's a spellcaster. A hacker and a spellcaster. Tone's a healer, and I don't even know what skills Nasala and Ganneth have._

 _The only way I can think of is that the spellcasters here are all hiding their presences._  She frowned.  _As I the sudden appearance of a small army of goons didn't scream 'it's a trap' loudly enough._

The sound of blasterfire and screaming over the headset started Maera out of her musing, and she almost jumped and ran into Rill.  _"Shit! Dammit! Motherfuck!"_ She heard Szordree snarling.  _"They've got fucking warlocks, people! Mother fucking, archmage-level warlocks! I don't want to know what sort of being gave 'em this amount of—"_

The grating squeal of feedback interrupted the dark elf's rant, and Maera swore as the sound hurt her ear. She yanked the set out, massaging the offended ear. "Dammit!"

Upon hearing oaths in both kor and Azeran, she looked up and saw the other two having the same experience. Maera checked o make sure the earpiece wasn't squealing anymore before replacing it. "Hey, what happened? You mind repeating that, Szord?" Static was her reply. She tapped the piece. "Dione, you there? Can anybody hear me?!" Again, all she heard was static. Growling in frustration, Maera slammed her fist into the nearest wall. "Gods  _damn_  it!"

"Jamming frequency. We've lost contact with the others." X'vir said, his earpiece already back in place and frowning as he scrutinized his HUD. "I'll bet they can't hear us, either."

"What about the ship?" Rill asked, slipping his weapons back out of their holsters on his belt

X'vir's frown deepened as he shrugged. "It's a good bet ha if we can' hear the others, then  _Sleipnir_  can't hear us either." He replied. "Which means that we'll have to get back to the ship on our own. Or at least until Tone manages some workaround."

"How good are they with this sort of thing." X'vir's ears twitched. His hand went to his weapon faster than Maera blinked. "Someone's coming. Someone strong."

Maera's brows knitted in confusion, but her hand went to her sword out of reflex. She scanned the hall, looking for possible exits in case things got hairier. Or for possible places a new enemy could show up. They were alone in the hall.

That's when the newcomer's presence hit her like a ton of bricks.

It felt like she'd been dunked into an ice bath, only to very promptly smash face-first against a wall. Whoever it was had to be ridiculously strong, because it felt like a lead weight was being pressed against Maera's chest. The new presence was  _heavy_ , more than the average arcane bruiser.

She didn't feel a Spark in this presence, but that didn't mean the owner wasn't hiding it.

If they were, Maera did  _not_  want to meet them.

She also did  _not_  want them to follow her if she did, indeed, end up having to bail. Which was another hing she'd rather not do, not with several non-'walkers in their party.

Still, the sudden appearance of he overbearing presence confirmed a suspicion; that the spellcasters of the Inquisitorium were indeed hiding their presences. If they weren't, she'd have felt this guy  _long_  before now.

Maera made sure Icefire and Black Ice were clear in their sheaths as she stood back-to-back with the two men. She scanned the hall, trying to pinpoint the source of the presence. The ethereal "weight" was so strong that it was an almost uniform feeling as far out as her senses could extend, and if the culprit  _was_  in the hall they were either carrying a personal cloak or using an invisibility spell.

She tightened her left hand on Icefire. With her right, she slowly, carefully drew her blaster. She'd lose the advantage of surprise after the first or second shot, but with any luck that's all it would take to immobilize their newcomer. For a while, at least.

Long enough for her to get a spell off, Rill to close in, or X'vir to charge his portable cannon.

She spotted the humanoid-sized shimmer in the air, an took aim at it with the blaster. Maera rested her finger on he trigger with just the slightest featherweight, ready to let off the shot once the newcomer was visible.

When they were, she almost dropped the weapon in surprise.

" _Grimoire?!"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews are desired but not required, but damn to they feel good to read ^w^


	14. No Such Thing as Impossible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maera saves her friend's ass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for this chapter go to Arkham_Wyntier for giving this story a kudos! Virtual hug!
> 
> Disclaimer: The ushe--if you recognize it, I don't own it.

**Chapter Fourteen**

**No Such Thing as Impossible**

" _ **Grimoire?!"**_

Maera's mouth hung open. She nearly dropped her blaster when the tall, lanky vedalken came into view. Her heart leapt when she say he was unharmed, and very much alive.

Her cynicism followed up quickly, pointing out that the fact that he'd just showed up out of nowhere was a bad sign. That, and the fact that he was currently wearing very different clothes than before.

And indeed, they were  _not_  the leather jacket, combat boots and cargo pants that she was used to. Instead, Grim was wearing expensive-looking black trousers, shiny black shoes, and a long, high-collared coat with zippers at the cuffs to his sleeves and the hem reaching to his heels. On his hands he had black gloves with a pattern stitched into them, but he was to far away for Maera to make out more than the glint of metallic thread. His hair was in the same braidhawk as before, but it was his stance that was setting off alarm bells in her head.

He was still. Too still; he looked like a statue. Maera had seen the vedalken stand like this before, but it was nothing like now. It was...unnatural.  _Too_  unnatural for anyone still with a pulse.

The hairs on the back of her neck were on end. This was  _not right._

_Just once I'd like for hings to go easy. A quick, in-and-out rescue, no curveballs. Just once._

"You are Maera Hellion."

Chills ran down the back of her neck at the sound of his voice. I was Grimoire's all right, but it was...flat. It sounded less like her companion for the last month and more like a robot speaking with his voice. The nasty thought that she'd been trying to quash since he dropped his invisibility wormed its way to the front of her mind.

_They did something to him. The bastards did something to him._

"I'm assuming that's Grimoire?" Rill whispered in her ear, barely turning his head. Maera nodded. "He doesn't look very happy to see us."

Maera shook her head. Her hand tightened on her gun, though the barrel trembled. "Who are you?"  _Please don't be Grimoire. Please don't be Grimoire. Please let this be a ruse. Please don't be..._

He cocked his head. "We are the Hive." He replied in that same creepily flat voice. "Though we assume you mean this individual. We believe you know him by the name 'Grimoire'."

A cold stone settled in the pit of Maera's stomach. She'd been hoping she was wrong.  _The Hive...what the fuck is the Hive?_

_Pfeh. Doesn't matter. Whatever it or they are I'll deal with._  "And you're using Grimoire as a mouthpiece, aren't you? Well, let him go."

"It isn't that simple," X'vir hissed. "The Hive's a...well, a hive-mind." Maera felt him shrug. "It's self-explanatory."

"So you're saying Grim's part of that hive mind."

"...Yeah. Which means we're fucked."

"Precisely." Maera's attention was returned to the man standing in front of her. "We have absorbed Zachar Urin—Grimoire, as he introduced himself to you—into our collective consciousness. His memories are now ours."

"So you brain-killed him."

"No. Zachar Urin' consciousness is still alive, as part of the Hive.

Maera gave a crooked smile to hide the chill that was expanding from her gut to the rest of her insides. "Sorry if I don't feel very relieved by that."

"We do not need you to be relieved." Grimoire—or rather, the  _Hive_  speaking through him—replied. "Merely accepting of the fact."

Maera cocked her head and paused for a second. "Mmh...naw, don't think so."

Grimoire raised an eyebrow. "You are indeed tenacious."

"I prefer the term 'stubborn as hell'."

"You  _do_  realize that isn't a compliment, right?"

Maera blew a raspberry at Rill. " _I_  consider it a compliment."

"Wow. And the others say Ganneth's a dug-in asshole."

Maera snorted. "Point is, I ain't gonna consider Grimoire a lost cause till I see his corpse. And from the looks of it, you're lookin' like you still got a pulse."

"That is either a remarkably determined mindset, or a foolish one." The vedalken folded his arms behind his back. "Regardless, your companion is one of the Hive now. You three will not leave."

Maera's crooked smirk turned into a shit-eating grin. "I don't think so. You're the one coming with us, Grim. Whether the Hive likes it or not."

"He's right though, Maera." X'vir whispered. She peered down at him out of the corner of her eye, and it was enough to see the tension in his face. His ears were folded back against his head, his tail drooping. "Once somebody's in the Hive, they can't be pulled back out. Not without brain damage. Even if you take the chip out of their head, there's failsafes that'll fry their brain." His eyes narrowed. "Grim...Zachar's not coming back with us.

Maera's mouth went into a thin line. "You are  _not_  telling me you're giving up on one of your best friends. That's bullshit."

"It's also true." X'vir's stance shifted, and she saw him reaching for his minicannon. "My parents were doctors. They tried removing the chips form a couple people. They ended up brain dead."

"The Azeran is correct." Maera looked back to Grimoire. "Once one of the Hive, a single individual cannot be removed. We are one mind. We have access to all of the experience and memories of out constituents."

"So you know about Planeswalkers." Rill's tone was calm, but Maera could feel the tenseness in his shoulders.

"Yes."

"Then you  _also_  know how badly we can fuck people up."

Grimoire paused and cocked his head, thinking. When he spoke, Maera swore she  _finally_  heard some emotion in his voice. "Indeed."

"Then how's about we stop standing around chatting and get down to the business of  _unplugging him from your computer!"_  Maera switched to a two-handed grip on the blaster before firing off a shot at the vedalken facing her.

Time seemed to slow down. On a logical level, she knew it was the adrenaline kicking in and causing her brain to take note of far more information than it normally would. That still didn't stop the surreal feeling that everything was moving slower. Before the blaster bolt hit, she stowed the pistol and was already starting forward, pulling Icefire from his sheath as she moved.

Without having to be told, the others moved into positions as well. X'vir sidestepped, the  _pfweeeee_  of his cannon's charging ringing in her ears. Rill moved faster than Maera could track—adrenaline or no—white-silver ripples of magic cascading down his arms.

The bolt slammed into the deck right before it would have hit the vedalken, kicking up a shroud of vapor. Maera charged headlong into the smokescreen, Icefire alighting as she drew it fully from the sheath.

She was halfway through the swing when it abruptly  _stopped._

Followed by a blue, six-fingered hand grabbing her face and throwing her aside.

She crashed into the wall, head smacking hard against the metal plating. Her katana fell from her hand, limp, the cold flames extinguishing. Her ears rang from the blow, and it took her a few moments to regain her senses.

Just in time to see Grimoire go toe-to-toe with Rill, the silvery mana sheathing his limbs and turning the short wooden staves into a pair of what looked like small hand sickles, attached at the ends by a chain of mana. The kor monk was wielding them expertly, moving scarily fast while Grim was keeping up pace-for-pace.

Maera gave herself a mental kick in the rear before she got  _too_  mesmerized by the deadly dance.  _Reason. Grab Grim. Yank him out of the Hive. Get the chip out of his head. First two should be easy enough. Might need a little help with the third._  She stood, and for a moment there was a chirp of static from her earpiece. She ignored it and retried Icefire, eyes tracking the fight to find the best place to jump back in.

The vedalken's back was turned. Maera didn't hesitate; she charged again, lighting the runes along Icefire's blade and swinging down on the vedalken's shoulder.

The blade passed right through, the hologram winking out of existence. He woman blinked, her brain not quite registering what had just happened.  _What—how—?_

Again her earpiece chirped with static. Maera thought she caught part of a word, but she ignored it in favor of throwing up a ward at the sound of blasterfire. The energy blast sprayed harmlessly along the shimmering aquamarine shield, the last few sparks dissipating away. Her arm tingled, the only sort of discomfort from the casting.

_'Careful, Maera. You don't want to blow yourself out again, not right after the storm's started calming down.'_  Taibhse's commentary came unbidden to her mind as she lowered her arm, magic still dancing around her fingertips. She glowered at the vedalken, still standing as calmly as before with his hands folded behind his back.

_C'mon, Grimore. If the Hive isn't lying, you're still floating around in there. Gimme a sign already._  Maera thought, studying Grimoire for any sign of that cold-as-iron composure breaking. Any sign that there was one particular consciousness dominant in her friend's mind.

Nothing. If there was a crack in there somewhere, she couldn't' see it.

" _Maera!"_

Rill's bark brought her back to reality, and she dove to the side as a cerulean-bladed dagger cut through the air where her neck had just been. The blade, it turned out, wasn't metal at all; it was made of pure magic, the rune on the hilt shimmering. A matching blade came in, and she turned it aside with her katana, dancing out of reach. Right after, Rill entered the space she had left, a black-clad blur.

_'You're gonna need more distractions than just him, you know.'_

Taibhse was right; they needed more than just Rill's fists and X'vir's cannon. Eyes glowing blue, Maera drew a set a runes in the air and muttered a spell. Several copies of her burst from her position, the real one scattering among them.

And then all of them, real and illusory, sent missiles of ice hurling towards the vedalken. Each one identical, and all but one as insubstantial as the illusory Maeras.

They shattered against the vedalken's coat. Even the real missiles did no more than smash into Grim, causing him to grunt in surprise and stumble to a knee, before crashing to the ground.

Maera shot a thumbs-up to Rill before jumping back into motion, just in time to miss a retaliatory spell. The sticky ball of goo splashed on the ground, before already beginning to dissipate.

" _Outta the way! Fire in the hole!"_

Maera was drawing her wakizashi when the Azeran called out. She quickly moved out o the way, throwing a sheet of pitch blackness between her allies and the vedalken mage. Rill rolled out of the way a half second later, right before the white-hot ball of plasma rocketed towards Grimoire's back.

Maera didn't see the result. Even with her eyes closed, the light was blinding and the roar almost deafening.

" _M...ra... co...in, Ma...ra. ...re? Are y... th...re?"_

The static in the commlink was thick, but she could still make out what sounded like words. The speaker sounded vaguely like Tone, but it was choppy from interference. "Yeah, I'm here. What 'bout the others?"

" _We...ave...m. Bein...ja...ed. Conne...tion's wea..."_  The aetherborn responded as Maera shot off a quick magic missile at where she assumed Grimoire was.  _"Yo...ve tr...ble?"_

She heard the blaster bolt coming, and spun to the side. It clipped her hip, the magitech armor tingling s it absorbed the blow. She heard the exchange of several blows as she moved position. "Kinda. Fighting Grim."

" _Gri...ire? Why?!"_

Maera sliced through another bolt with Black Ice before sending several phantasms into the fray. "He's been made part of the Hive. X'vir said we're boned."

" _Yo...re. Get ou...f the...r!"_

"Not without Grim."

" _H...s g...ne."_

"That's what X'vir said. I don't believe it."

" _It's imp...ssble. H...ng on...go...ng to tr... to cl...r i...up."_

_Sorry, Tone, but I don't believe in the word impossible._ Maera thought as she turned aside another spell, sending another of hers rocketing back before moving again.  _I just need to figure out how to counter that implant without frying Grimoire in the process._

Suddenly, the darkness she had cloaking the area was blown away like leaves in a strong wind. Grimoire was standing with one hand raised, the runes on his glove softly glowing. He lowered his arm and straightened his cuff, the runes dimming. "That was...inconvenient." He said. He scanned the three of them; X'vir at the end of the hall with his minicannon ready, Rill behind the vedalken in a ready stance, and Maera with her two swords wreathed in mana. "You are not fighting to kill."

"Because we're fighting an ally." Rill pointed out. One whose body you're controlling."

" _That's better."_  The static was still thick, but Tone's voice was much easier to make out now.  _"Can you hear me? Maera? Rill? X'vir?"_

" _We're here."_  Rill's voice was low, but clearly audible. More than Tone's, likely because of his comm's proximity.

" _Same."_  It was the same for X'vir, likely for the same reason.

Grimoire tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing. "You have managed to bypass the jamming frequency."

_Shit._  "What was your first clue."

"Sarcasm isn't necessary."

"It's one of my talents."

Grimoire hummed. "This fighting is pointless. Unless you fight to kill, we will subdue and defeat you."

"We're not leaving without Grim."

"We told you; Zachar Urin is one of the Hive. You will not be able to retrieve him without brain damage." He cocked his head. "Your mission is an impossible one."

Maera sheathed Icefire. Her hand went to the staff slung across her back. "I don't believe in impossible."

"Then your defeat will be painful."

"Don't think so." X'vir had a nasty smile on his face.  _"Maera, get ready to grab Grim and pull the panic button."_

Maera barely had a moment to register what he'd said before another screaming, crackling blast of energy was released from the Azeran's cannon—this time heading  _straight_  for Grimoire. She realized with a combination of horror and shock what he was doing.  _Holy crap. He's gonna fry his own friend before we haul him back to Sleipnir. Probably hoping Tone can do something about that chip after all._

_Won't have long, though._

Grimoire didn't move to dodge or otherwise block the blast. Instead, he simply closed his eyes and gave a small headshake before... _disappearing._

Leaving Rill right in the line of fire.

The kor's eyes widened in surprise—and, Maera thought, terror—as the ball of electricity slammed into him, the momentum carrying him to the end of the hall and slamming him against the wall. Hard. The woman was rooted to the spot as her friend and fellow 'walker hit the wall with a wet  _crack_ , and crumpled with a blotch of red marring the white of his hair. A matching splat of blood marred the wall where his head had smashed against it.

Rill went down in a heap. The short staves fell from his grasp.

He didn't get back up.

_Shit. Shit fucker, damn it to hell._  Grimoire was gone, the hologram that he'd been using as a distraction now giving her a clear view of X'vir's face. The Azeran looked horrified, staring open-mouthed at the limp kor crumpled against the wall.

"As Zachar would say, nice try."

Grimoire's form flickered back into existence behind X'vir, and the hilt of one of the daggers smashing into the base of his skull. The Azeran's eyes rolled back into his head before he, too, fell unconscious to the ground.

Grimoire turned his attention to Maera, stepping easily over X'vir's limp form. "We must admit, you were a challenge. "But I regret to inform you that your attempts to defeat us were in vain."

Maera stepped back, her mind whirling as she tried figuring a way out of this latest mess.  _He's just take down your allies. You're in the middle of the main fortress of the bad guys. Yep, you're screwed._  She swallowed.  _And I still don't have any idea how to disable that chip._

_'Are you sure?'_  Taibhse piped up again. She chewed the bottom of her lip. No, she wasn't. Not at all. The spirit sighed.  _'I thought not.'_

"Make this easy on yourself and surrender. I do not want to hurt you."

_Wait a second. Did he just use the word 'I'?!_

A smile started spreading across her face.  _He said 'I'. Not 'we'. That's a sign if I ever saw one._  She thought, the smile spreading into a grin.  _He might have a chip in his head linking him to a hive mind, but that 'I' tells me one thing..._

Grimoire's brow furrowed at her grin. Maera just let it get wider.

_He's still the dominant personality._

"I'm sorry, but I can't do that."

"Beg pardon?" Maera sheathed Black Ice and pushed her glasses up on her nose, planting her staff next to her feet. "I can't do that, Grim. Because I'm gonna disable that chip in your head that connects you to the Hive."

_I don't know exactly how, but I will._

"We have already told you; that is impossible. You will be dooming your friend to brain-death."

"And  _I_  told  _you;_  I don't believe in impossible." Her shadow moved and twisted around her, reaching for Grimoire. "Call me an idealist, but hell or high water I'm gonna find a way to fry that chip  _without_  frying your brain, Grim."

"It is impossible."

Maera gave him a shit-eating grin.  _"Watch me._ " And then she burst into action.

Grimoire sidestepped her charge, eyeing her. "That was useless."

Maera replied with a smirk. "Was it, though?"

He frowned, only for his eyes to widen in surprise as living shadows wound up and around his legs, rooting him to the spot.

_'I hope you have a plan.'_

_Don't worry, Taibhse. I do._  Maera replied.  _I'm just figuring out what it is as I go._

_'Oh my god. You have to be kidding.'_

Grimoire tried moving his legs, frowning as they wouldn't budge. Instead, he reached out his hand and muttered a spell, lines of electric blue light arcing towards her.

Maera bent backwards, letting them zip over her face. Momentarily the HUD of her headset went to static before resetting.

She blinked.  _Wait a sec. I forgot about that! Magic and tech don't like to play nice!_

The grin on her face returned as the plan fell into place so well, it almost came up with itself.  _Oh, that's good. That's really good._

_'I feel the need to point out that the technology on this plane is magically based. How can you be sure this'll work?'_

Maera straightened, and raised her hand. Sparks danced around the magical construct as the palm glowed blue.  _I'm no. But it's still electronics, and no matter how well acclimated to magic, they can still fry. My phone did._

_'I hope you know what you're doing'._

Maera didn't reply that she didn't. She was pretty sure Taibhse knew that already, anyway. Instead, she dove at the vedalken.

Apparently he'd been expecting another magical attack, as he had his wrists crossed and the runes on his gloves were shimmering. So he was understandably surprised when she grabbed on to his face. "What—"

That was as far as he got before Maera discharged the gathered mana—enough for a planeswalk—directly into his body.

He  _screamed._

**-XXX-**

" **D** ammit!" Sonna reeled back from the controls as electricity danced across them. The screens went to static, before blacking out altogether.

"What the hell is going on?!" Evran demanded, reaching for the control. He regretted it a moment later, hissing in pain as the electricity shot up his arm as well. "Don't tell me  _they_  managed to jam  _us!_ "

"No. It's feedback." Sonna hissed as one of the screens blew out, the glass shattering. "She... _fried_  us. It's magical feedback."

Evran stared at the woman, blank-faced. "You're  _joking._ "

She shook her head. "No."

"We're talking  _magitech._  It can handle the load."

"Even arcane electronics have limits. That blast exceeded ours."

" _Damn."_  Evran slammed a fist down on the console before stepping back, running his hands through his hair. "Do we have  _any_  contact with anyone in that hall?"

"No."

"Damn..." He repeated, letting out a breath. "All right. Order the nearest security we  _can_  contact to the section, and apprehend the four of them."

_This is not going to be easy to explain._

**-XXX-**

**M** aera groaned, blinking the fuzziness away. Her vision was still blurry, and she fumbled around for her glasses.

She found them, and shoved them back on as she stood. That discharge of magic had blown her out almost as badly as it had Grimoire... She turned, and saw the vedalken on the ground, unmoving and limp.  _Crap. Please tell me that worked..._

She went to him and put to fingers to his neck. There was a pulse, and she sighed in relief.  _Thank the gods._  She went to tap her earpiece, only to find that the construct that was acting as her right arm was gone. Maera glanced round, and saw her staff lying not far from where she'd been thrown.  _Good._

" _...ra? Maera! The hell was that?!"_  That was Tone.

Again, Maera sighed in relief. "My plan to disconnect Grim from the Hive."

A pause.  _"What."_

"Long story." She stood and strode to pick up her staff. "D'you still have a lock on our lifesigns?"

" _Barely. Sleipnir's already gotten the others."_

Maera grunted. "Good. Get Rill and X'vir outta here first. They're out cold."

" _It'll have to be one at a time, but no problem. What about you and Grimoire?"_

"I'm standing next to him."

" _That doesn't help me, hon."_

Maera grimaced. "Right..." She ran her hand through her hair, the staff leaning against her shoulder. "Okay. I have an idea. It's stupid, but I'd rather have a stupid idea than get caught."

" _I already hate it, but go on."_

Maera was already unstrapping her wristband. Her right 'arm' had returned without her consciously calling for it. "I'm going to strap my panic button to Grim and activate it. I'll 'walk outta here and meet you back on the ship."

" _You can do that?"_

She shrugged. "Pretty sure." She strapped the band around the unconscious vedalken's wrist. "Pinpoint planeswalking is kinda...tricky."

" _Great. What happens if you miss?"_

"I'll still be wearing the earpiece. I'll let you know where I am...if I'm in range."

Tone grunted.  _"Good luck."_

"Right." She activated the panic button, and the blue light started blinking. She felt the tingle on the back of her neck as the first of the three teleports started.

Once all three were safely away, Maera made sure she had everything and planeswalked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As per usual, a quote from AnotherSpoonyBard; "Reviews required, but not desired"
> 
> But gods to they feel good ^^~


	15. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there's not much action, but some fun drunken-Planeswalker fluff. And gooeyness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all my readers and regulars on this! Enjoy the silly drunken fluff that ensues.

**Chapter Fourteen**

**Interlude**

**Zachar**  drifted back to consciousness slowly. His head felt like it ad been in a vice, and his body felt like it was made from lead. Every breath sent lances of pain through his chest, and he could feel  _every single heartbeat_  throb in time with his migraine. He didn't want to  _think_ , let alone think bout what could have happened to put him in this state.

Hells...his head  _hurt_. Just the act of putting together coherent  _thoughts_  was painful.

What in the hells had  _happened_  to him? Did someone stick his head in an FTL drive or something?

He groaned weakly, lifting a hand to rub his forehead. Or, tried to, at least. The attempt to make his muscles respond turned the dull ache in the limb into an all-out burning, so he gave up and let his arm drop back to the bed.

Bed. So  _that_  was what he was lying on.  _I hope I don't have to get up for the next century or two. Too damn comfortable._

Apparently his small groan hadn't gone unnoticed, as the sound of someone shifting cued him in to a companion. "Well, look who's awake. Good morning, Grim."

That voice was familiar. Zachar cracked an eye, wincing at the sudden brightness of the light. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, but sure enough Tone was sitting in a chair they'd pulled up next to the vedalken's bed. Despite the stone-like dermis they had for skin, Zachar could tell they were frowning. Concerned. "...Tone?"

They nodded. "Yes, that's me. Your friendly neighborhood medic who deals with way too much bullshit from the locals that should be allowed." They dropped the jaunty tone and crossed their arms. "How're you feeling?"

Zachar replied with a weak grunt and, "Like my brain was squeezed through my nostrils and reassembled by a toddler."

Tone hummed. "Not surprising, I suppose." They replied with a shrug. "Considering how Maera, well... _fried_  your brain."

Zachar blinked at them, mouth hanging open. "She...what? ...Why?"

"Your brain. Fried it." Tone tapped their own head to illustrate their point. "Or the chip inside it, anyway. For a while we weren't sure if yo were still connected to the Hive but comatose, or if your brain had gone the way of the chip."

The vedalken blinked at them again, slowly processing the information.  _Maera..._ _fried my brain_ _? Or, no, wait. She_ _fried_ _the_ _chip in my brain_ _._  He thought, ignoring the throbs of pain said gray matter sent out in protest.  _The Hive—_

Memories assaulted him, the flood almost sending him back to unconsciousness. Evran subduing him, the doctor putting him under, the flood of minds all talking in his head at once and not being able to separate himself from the mass of the hive-mind and forgetting where Zachar ended and the Hive bega—

Tone putting their hand on his shoulder jerked Zachar back to the present. Back to himself. He closed his eyes and took several long, deep breaths. He rubbed his face with his hands, muscle protests be damned. "Powers that Be..."

"That's about what Nasala was saying as we were bugging out. Among...other things."

Zachar cracked his fingers and peered at them through the gap. "Who's aboard?"

"Oh, the usual. Myself, Ganneth, Nasala and X'vir." Tone replied, ticking off their fingers as they listed the names. "Plus Maera, as well as some friends of hers; a rather cranky kor named Rill, one Szordree Wyndal who cracks a new pun every chance he gets, and a Miss Dione Desidenius—who, by the way, gave me a glare that could've melted a hole in the hull when I called her 'Miss'."

"Usually pissing off people is Ganneth's job, Tone. You might make him nervous."

The aetherborn chuckled. "Well, it's good to know that you're in good spirits, despite feeling like crap."

"I never said I felt like crap."

"You didn't have to." Tone pointed to their chest. "Aetherborn, remember? I can 'smell' mods as easily as you smell pizza. Or BO."

"I feel the need to point out that you can pick up on those, too."

"Yes. Which is why I can tell you  _really_  need a shower. No offense Zachar, but you're a little ripe."

"Pardon me for being comatose for..." He paused, frowning. "Um. How long  _have_  I been unconscious for?"

"Almost a week, give or take a day or two." Tone replied with a shrug. " _Sleipnir_  and Nasala got us back on course to her clan's caravan. We're with them now."

Zachar just blinked dumbly at them. A week. He'd been out cold for a  _week_. And what Maera had done, causing a mana overload and shorting out all the electronics in a radius of...say, fifty meters of them...

Horror slammed into his gut. It wasn't just the chip in  _his head_  she'd fried; a good section of the Inquisitorium's headquarters had to have been blown out in the process. Okay, so most of the mundane electronics and magitech  _was_  shielded against magical overloads—Eternities only knew how many times some poor mage tried  _that_  in an attempt to tell the Inquisitorium to fuck off—but that was the  _normal_  kind of aether blowout. The kind that happened when a  _normal_ ,  _planesbound_  mage pulled out that little trick of aether.

But Maera  _wasn't_  a planesbound mage. She was an ever-loving  _Planeswalker_ , and Zachar knew from his own experience the amount of chaos a Planeswalker could inflict. There was no way the Inquisiorium's shields would've held up if she'd decided to unleash her Spark to hex them.

And that didn't even include the cascade from one of the cerebral chips failing. It was entirely plausible—no, even  _likely—_ that the  _entire Hive_  had been destroyed in the process.

He was surprised more damage hadn't been done, really. And speaking of the borderline insane, foul-mouthed half-faerie... "How is Maera? Is she all right? Are  _all of you_  all right?"

"More or less. I had to put Ganneth's shoulder back together, and he's grumbling about how his head feels funny with half a horn missing." Tone replied. "Nasala had a blaster hole in her thigh I patched up. Szordree had managed to set his pants  _and_  hair on fire—note to self, pyromancers are  _not_  known for subtlety—and both X'vir and the Great Grouchypants Rill had pretty nasty concussions." They listed off the injuries nonchalantly, but Zachar knew Tone well enough to know that it hid insane amounts of worry. "As for Maera, she did that weird planeswalking thing after the rest of you were aboard, and we ended up picking her up back at Saiyani. She looked...wet."

Zachar let his hands fall away from his face. "Wet? How? Why?"

Another shrug. "No idea. Ask her. She was grumbling something abut a sea dragon and hating evolution."

Zachar snorted, then winced. "Ow. Everything hurts."

"Yeah. I'd point out the fact that you just had your brain almost blown apart, but I feel that would be redundant."

"Funny." Zachar stared to push himself up onto his elbows, but Tone put a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Easy. Don't get up yet; you'll just end up face-first on the floor." The aetherborn said. "If you  _must_  tell the others you're awake, I'll just yell out the door and let you be inundated here.  _That_  way you don't go and give yourself some new and creative injury.

Zachar frowned at them, but relented and laid back down. "Just as well...felt like I was going to throw up.

"Okay, then you're  _definitely_  taking it easy." Tone stood. "I'll go tell the others you're awake, and ask them  _not_ to all come flooding in here. That's the  _last_  thing you need right now, if just  _sitting up_  is enough to make you want to puke."

Zachar grunted softly in reply as the aetherborn left to let the others know. He laid back against his pillows, closing his eyes. He was sore, he was tired, and he felt like hell. And he was pretty sure he  _looked_  like hell, too

It wasn't long before he drifted back to sleep.

**-XXX-**

**I** t wasn't until two days later that Tone deemed Zachar well enough to be up and about, and it was none too soon for the vedalken; he was starting to get stir crazy. He still had to take it easy, but for the time being he was content just to be out of his bedroom. Currently he was leaning back in one of the three seats in the cockpit, booted feet propped up on the console, staring aimlessly out at the shifting aether current as they cruised at FTL. It was a swirl of myriad colors, merging and separating, a raging interstellar river doing a delicate-looking dance. To him, it reminded him of how his brain pictured the Blind Eternities, making some sort of sense out of the chaotic mess of the not-space between planes.

He heard the padding of bare feet on the floor beside him before Maera sat down in one of the vacant seats next to him. "You look like shit."

Zachar snorted. "Feel worse."

"I'll bet." She paused, and Zachar heard the dull  _clunk_  of a pair of items being set down on the console. She nudged him. "Here."

Zachar eyed the glass. It was half-full of amber liquid, the bubbles of carbonation floating to the top. "What's this?"

"You look like you need a drink." She shook the glass gently. "It's scotch, by the way. And Sprite, or whatever analog for it your plane's got."

Zachar grunted and accepted the glass, giving a salute before downing the alcohol. He cringed as it burned its way down his throat, but it was the good kind f burn. "Guess tat confirms your age."

Maera snorted. "Legal age differs from plane to plane, I've noticed. At least the ones that  _have_  a legal drinking age, anyway." She poured herself a second glass and raised her eyebrow at him in a question, tilting the bottle towards him. Zachar responded b handing her his glass to be refilled. " _Technically,_  since I spend about half my time on Ravnica, I've been legal since I was twenty. But I still waited till my home country's age."

Zachar accepted the glass again, but didn't down it as fast as the first one. "You didn't come here to discuss legal drinking ages."

Maera grunted, knocking back her second glass before another refill. She sat back, crossing her ankle over her knee. "Like said; you looked like you needed a drink. Or three."

Zachar hummed in reply, eyeing her out of the corner of his eye. Her hair was pulled back in in its customary ponytail, her blue bangs falling partway over half her face. She was wearing a pair of cargo pants and hooded sweatshirt, with a black t-shirt underneath that had some sort of graphic on it. Her posture, however, was...different since the last time he'd seen her. Well, the last time he'd seen her before getting into a spell battle with her.

It wasn't something obvious like her back held straight, or holding her head up, or anything like that it was...he didn't know how to put it. Stronger, maybe. Or more confident, though it wasn't as if she didn't have a ramrod shoved up her ass already.

Whatever it was, Zachar couldn't place it. But that wasn't the only difference...

He nodded to the hand she was using to hold her glass. "Your magic's back."

Maera looked to him and nodded. "It never left, technically." She replied. "It was just all tangled up, and I couldn't draw mana or cast spells without it going haywire."

"Well, looks like you've gotten it un-tangled."

Again she nodded. She took a sip from her drink before continuing. "If anything, it's even  _easier_  to cast now." She said. "I mean, it was easy before, but now it's like..." she paused, brow furrowing. "It's like the mana I draw is  _asking_  to be used, as if rather than me searching it out it's waiting for the call."

Zachar turned his glass around in his hand, his fingers tapping against it. "You talk abut it as if it were sentient."

Maera made a sound in her throat, swirling her drink around in her glass. "I'm not entirely sure it isn't sentient. Partly, at last." She took a drink from her glass before continuing. "One of the first things I was taught about magic was that it's not a toy; any decent mage, good or evil, respects the mana they wield. It's not a hard thing to lose control of a spell when you decide to start dicking around during the casting."

Zachar thought for a moment. "...Never thought about it that way." A beat. "It makes a kind of sense, though."

"You still sound skeptical."

Zachar shrugged. "I might be a mage, but I prefer to put more stock in what I can physically touch, see, handle...instincts confuse me."

"You'd be a good physicist." Maera downed the last of her glass, but didn't refill it right away. "Though I'd say sticking with magic's still a good plan. Pretty sure the fight in the Death Star Jr. broke a couple ribs."

Zachar winced. Ah. That. Technically, he  _had_ been conscious at the time, so he remembered how it had gone. It just hadn't been... _him_  directing his body. Not alone. He'd been connected to the Hive, drawing on the knowledge of the collective consciousness as his own. Most of what he'd' been throwing around...he doubted he'd be able to pull it off on his own.

His gaze slid to the half-faerie in the adjacent seat, fiddling with her glass. He didn't want to admit it, but...she  _scared_  him. She'd seen her allies thrown against a wall and knocked unconscious by a friend, and then gone toe-to-toe with him while he'd  _had the knowledge of hundreds of individuals at his disposal_. And with that shit-eating grin plastered on her face. And proceed to up the snark meter as she faced down magical might that Zachar was pretty sure would make anybody sane piss their pants.

Maera Hellion was most certainly  _not sane._  The woman had to have some screws loose to look that kind of danger in the eye, smirk, and flip it the bird.

_What kind of shit has she faced before to have that kind of attitude?_

Zachar liked to think he didn't scare easily. But damn...the woman in the seat next to him  _terrified_  him.

He did  _not_  want to face her in a fight. Again.  _Ever._

Zachar drained his glass and refilled it for the third time. "Why?"

Maera frowned at him. "Why...what?"

"Why'd you do that?" He clarified, setting the bottle down. He was pretty sure the alcohol had something to do with his sudden chattiness, but the vedalken didn't really care at the moment. "Why'd you come after me? And how'd you manage to rope the others in, to? That's not the sort of thing you do for someone you've only known for a month or so."

Maera was silent for a moment. Finally, when Zachar was starting to think that she wasn't going to answer, she spoke. "Because you're my friend." She refilled her glass. "You're right, I've known you for all of a month. But it's long enough to know you're a part of my friend group." She paused, and took a swig. "My messy, sometimes horny, fucked up, living-in-the-gutter friend group."

"Are they all as bad as you?"

"Mostly. Some are worse."

Zachar stared at her as she nursed her drink. "You just lumped me I with a bunch of dirty-minded lunatics. Should I be worried?"

"Eh. Not really." She shrugged. "You could be lumped in with a  _lot_  worse. The gods of Theros come to mind. So do the Phyrexians, yyyyyech." She shuddered and shook her head. "Never. Want. To. See. One. Again. Oh, and Bolas, of course. But you've heard enough rage about  _that_  sack of scaly shit."

"Yes I have." Zachar deadpanned. He took a drink and swished it around in his mouth a moment while he thought over how best to word his reply. "What about the others?"

Maera grunted. "Honestly, pretty sure your friend's would've gone after you with or without me in tow."

"You're probably right about that," Zachar agreed, a small smile quirking the edge of his mouth. "They'd probably get themselves killed in the process, but they would."

"But you're wondering why a bunch of strangers would go along with a suicide plan."

"More or less, yes."

Maera took a sip. "It's...complicated." She replied. "It's one of those 'if he's a friend of yours he's a friend of mine' sort of things, I guess. I didn't really ask them to go with, so much as Rill and Szordree and Dione were already waiting at the dock."

Zachar faced her and studied the woman. "They must  _really_  trust you."

Maera grunted. "Maybe." She said. "But...they're friends of mine. I've known 'em for a while, long enough to know when they're about to do something insanely stupid. And enough to know that when they do, I'll meet them at the entrance and haul their ass out when things go sideways."

"That sounds suspiciously like  _them_  meeting  _you_  at the gate."

Maera snorted into her drink, smiling. "Yeah it does, doesn't it?" She mused. "Welp, that's what friends are for. Running headlong into battle for you over a complete stranger, then lecturing you about how fucking stupid it was later."

"Experience much?"

Another snorted laugh. "Too much experience." She said, before taking another drag from her glass. "But call it a reflex. I tend to get protective of the people I like. Genetics say I'm half faerie, but I wouldn't be surprised if there's a trace of dragon floating around in there. It'd explain the friend hoarding.

Zachar grunted in response, draining his glass before refilling it yet again. He didn't take a drink right away, just fingered the glass and stared outside. He didn't speak, and Maera didn't seem particularly inclined to break the silence either. They sat like that for several minutes before Zachar finally broke the silence. "It's Zachar."

Maera stared at him. "Uh. Wha?"

"Zachar Urin. It's my name." He sipped at the scotch. "Grimoire's my 'net handle. It's more than a little helpful to have a hacker handle other than your actual name. Makes it harder for authorities to find you after the, ah...less legal jobs."

Maera raised her glass in a salute before taking a swig. "Nice to be  _officially_  introduced then, Zachar."

Zachar smiled. "So. What makes you so damn sure I'm  _not_  still connected to the Hive?"

Maera shrugged. "Mostly you acting like ya'self again." She replied, a slur coloring the ed of the sentence. "That, and Tone couldn' find any traces of the chip. Nor did Nasala." She peered at him over her eyeglasses. "Which reminds me; you still got some 'splainin to do."

Zachar frowned at her. "About  _what?_ "

"The whole leaving the Inquisitorium thing." Maera said, sitting back in her seat. "I know why you  _joined_ , but somethin' must've  _really_  bugged you for ya to scram. 'Specially if you wanted to take 'em down so bad."

Zachar leaned back in his chair again, frown deepening. He sighed through his nose, looking down at his glass without actually  _seeing_  it. "It's a...long story."

"I ain't goin' anywhere."

Zachar gave an odd half-shrug. "Short version, I got sick of their shit."

"Long version?"

He let out another sigh, fidgeting with his glass. "First off, I should probably tell you I am— _was—_ an assassin."

"Got that. 'Splains the fighting."

Zachar snorted. " _That_ 's as much to do with the Hive as me." He said. "First thing that happened after I 'walked back to Etrides was get cornered by a bunch of people with guns 'n wearing Inquisitorium uniforms." He _almost_  stopped himself.  _Almost._  "And one smug bastard with a creepy smile calling himself Evran."

"The douche who kicked your ass?"

Zachar nodded. "Said I had 'potential'. Said I could be a value to the Inquisitorium with my ability."

"Wait wait wait. Did these guys  _already_  know 'bout Planeswalkers?" Maera interrupted. "I'm liking them even  _less_."

"They might've figured out after I 'walked the first time. Or had a file on one from the past. Or just thought it was a particularly interesting teleport." He shrugged again. "Dunno, don't care."

"Well, they do now." Maera snorted. She grumbled somethin under her breath in some other language, then shook her head. "Go on."

Zachar took a sip of his drink and laid his head back, eyes closed. "I was fifteen and stupid, so I thought by joining up I could take them down from the inside, make 'em crumble from within." He continued. "So I joined up, planning to do exactly that. On my own. Like the idiot teenager I was."

Maera snorted noisily. " _Wow._  That  _is_  stupid. Watched to many movies, didya?"

"Thanks for the encouragement." Zachar deadpanned. "Anyway, the highlights're this; I became Evran's apprentice, got to be one of the Inquisitorium's assassins and took on a lot of the more dangerous stuff since I could fuck outta there when things got too nasty."

"Bet they took advantage of your techno-magic-thingy too."

Zachar grunted. "That too." He opened his eyes and drained his glass, then refilled it before sitting back again. "I...don't' like killing. I just did the job they gave me, thinking it was a means to an end." He chuckled humorlessly. "Fat lotta good that did the people I killed."

"And lemme guess; ya decided 'fuck this, I'm out' and bailed."

"Pretty much." He stared down into his glass, not really seeing the amber liquid. "Somethin' snapped, and I decided that no matter how much information I stole, no matter how much of it I to to people who could 'do something', and no matter how high up in their ranks I got it wasn't worth the blood. So I quit." A beat. "Or thought I did, anyway."

"I don' see anything on you that screams 'Inquisitorium scumbag, come and get it'."

Zachar snorted. "May as well be. Found me anyway." He tapped the tattoo around his eye with his free hand. " _This_  damn thing is something every member has. Supposed to guarantee 'loyalty'." His face twisted. "More like it's a damned kill switch. Blackmail tattooed on your skin; do what we want or die. S'got a tracker in it, too—it's how Evran found me at Saiyani."

"Sooo you were running around with a tracker  _in your face._  That's dumb."

Zachar felt his face heating, and he told himself it was the alcohol and  _not_  irritation. "I thought it'd been fried with all the Planeswalks." He defended. "It's kinda hard to get tech and magic to mix when your magic involves... _that._ "

"Yeah. S'how I fried ya brain chip."

Zachar hummed, ignoring the increasingly thick slurs. Absently, some distant part of his own mind observed that  _he_  wasn't exactly sober either, but he ignored it in favor of the scotch and soda. "Anyways, when I 'walked away I decided to leave a back door so I could easily hack in whenever I needed info quick, so I didn' have t' wait around for other sources.

"But, turns out I was wrong. Planeswalking all th' time  _didn't_  fry the tracker, so every time I came back they knew  _exactly_  where I was." He frowned into his glass. "That, and the big magical signature 'walk leaves."

"Wonder why they didn' pick ya back up schooner." Maera mumbled, holding up her now-empty glass and eyeing it. "Hey, there's sparkles in these glasses. Shiny."

Zachar was in the middle of draining his glass (For the fourth time...? Or was he on drink five by now? Eh, whatever, he wasn't counting) and choked as he laughed. Maera frowned at him, as the vedalken coughed and sputtered his laughing. "Whasso funny?"

"Y...y-y-you!" Zachar laughed. "You were all grave and serious and now you're distracted by  _glitter!"_

Maera threw the tumbler at him and he ducked, the glass bouncing off the floor behind him. "Shaddup."

"It was  _funny._ " He refilled his glass. "You changed subjects faster than a...than a..." He frowned, trying to think of a metaphor. He couldn't, so he let it drop. "It was funny."

Maera stuck her tongue out at him. "Get my glass, wouldya?"

"No. You threw it."

"You're closer."

"I'm comfortable. Don' wanna move."

Maera rolled her eyes and stood, blowing him a large, wet raspberry. Surprisingly, she didn't sway when she walked—much. Zachar was impressed, up until she bent to pick up the glass.

And ended up stumbling and falling on her ass. Zachar again dissolved into a fit of giggles. Maera scowled, but ended up joining him in the gigglefest. Eventually, the two of them calmed down, and Maera wiped a tear of laughter from her eye. "I looked pretty stupid, right?"

"Very." Zachar held up a finger, affecting (what he assumed) was a stern expression. "No bending over till you're sobered up."

"Hey. I'm more sober'n you."

"You just faceplanted on the deck. You're still sitting there."

"I mean tot do that."

"Right."

The half-faerie crossed her arms. "I'm more thober than you shink I am." She smirked.

Zachar snorted a laugh into his glass. "You don't sound very sober."

"Shaddup." This time she threw a stray dusting rag at him. He ducked again, but this time the projectile ended up on his head. Maera promptly started laughing again. "You look ridicoo..ridici...you look stupid!"

This time it was Zachar's turn to blow a raspberry, like the mature one. "So,you gonna get up or stay on the floor?"

Maera stuck her tongue out and stood up. Or, tried to. She got to her feet all right, but had to use his chair for support as she nearly tripped over her own feet. "Um. The floor's comfy."

Zachar snorted as she dropped back down. "So since you're staying glued to the floor, want a refill?"

"Yes please." She held up her glass, and Zachar obliged. "Your face is purple."

"Is not."

"Is too." Maera looked to the ceiling. "Shle...Slepno...Shelmnir...ah, screw it. Hey ship, does Zach's face look purple?"

" _I'm going to exercise my right to remain silent on the matter and point out that you're both drunk."_

"Hey! I'm not drunk!" Maera gave Zachar an indignant look. "Tell 'im!"

" _You're_  th' one who faceplanted!"

"Your face is purple!"

"That's because my blood is red."

"Then why're you blushing?"

"I'm not blushing!"

"Yer  _sooo_  blushing! Zachar's blushing, Zachar's blushing~"

" _He's right, actually; Zachar's not blushing._ " Sleipnir pointed out matter-of-factually.  _"That's just his face flushing, because he's as drunk as you are."_

Maera blew another raspberry at the ship's comment. "He got a mute button?"

"If he does, I can't find it." Zachar took a drink before nodding to her. "I spilled my guts. Your turn."

"I already did some gut-spilling. Can't you see th' stomach on th' floor"

"Ew." Zachar made a face."I mean, why're you so protective? What made you a friend-hoarder?"

Now it was Maera's turn to snort into her glass. "Dunno. S'always how I've been, I guess." She replied. "Fun fact, back wen I was a kid I was a normal human."

Zachar frowned in confusion. "Uh. How does that work? You said you were half faerie."

"I am." She crossed her legs. "It's...weird. Up till fifteen or so, I was normal. Vanilla human, nothing to see here." She paused. "Well, 'cept for the fact that I never stopped believing in magic, like most people do by then on my plane, buuuut I blame my friends for that."

"They Planeswalkers too?"

Maera shook her head. "Naw. None of 'em're human, though." She raised a hand and ticked them off. "Niko's a shadow nymph, Lise is a dark elf, and Darren's a vampire." She snickered. "A very  _derpy_  vampire. He at twenty-four crayons one time."

"You're  _joking._ "

Maera snickered again. "Nope. Alcohol was involved." She replied, holding up her glass to illustrate. "I've known those three since kindergarten." She leaned back against the console. "Met 'em because Niko was crying because some kids stole his cupcake—so I shared some of mine—and Darren was being bullied so I threw rocks at the kids doing it."

"You're a very violent person."

Maera shrugged. "Yeah." She said. "Lise was in my Girl Scout troop, so I already knew her because we were the  _weird kids._ " She held up her hands and waved her fingers around, making an "oooooo' sound as if she were imitating a ghost. Zachar just thought she looked silly. "Point is, my friends were magic so I never outgrew it, 'cause I was always around it."

"Sooo...how'd the half faerie thing happen?

"Bels." She cracked her neck. "She's a Planeswalker. And the Dragonborn, but that's another story of fuckiness that she can tell ya when ya meet her." Maera continued. "Turns out, hanging out with a shadow nymph and an elf and a vampire my whole life wasn' enough to wake up my fae blood. Oh, noo—it needed a freaking  _Spark_  hanging around  _all the time_  to drag it's ass outta bed. Shortly after I met Bels—who, BTW, was described to me as  _shy—_ my back started getting all itchy so I looked in the mirror and saw wing tattoos. 'Cept I hadn't gotten any tattoos. Took a pic, showed Bels, asked what the fuck, and ssshe did a blood draw and had a DNA test done."

"And then you found out."

"Yerp. Fifteen years old and a fucking half-faerie throwback. She swirled the scotch around in her glass. "It started sooooo many 'faerie princess' jokes. Lots of shoes got thrown at lots of people's heads."

"So  _that's_  why you always run around barefoot. You threw all your shoes at people telling jokes about your heritage."

Maera gigglesnorted. "I got them  _back_ , I jus' don' like shoes." She took a swig again before continuing. "Firs' think I thought was 'fuck yeah, I can learn magic!'." A pause as she muffled a belch. "Grew up watching movies where mages were he badasses, saw my friends  _become_  badasses, and made friends with more badass mages. Sooo I decided I was gonna be a battlemage, blow shit up and save the world and all that fun shit."

"Your life sounds like a YA holonovel."

Maera hummed a laugh. "It does, doesn't it?" She went back to idly swirling her drink. "I thought it'd be cool as hell, throwing fireballs and freezing zombies and punching dragons in the face. Turns out fighting is fucking  _scary_ , and it's even scarier when it ain't just your neck on the line. It's scary as hell when you're out there, balls-deep in battle, 'n seeing your friends get hurt and keep going because they're as stubborn and stupid as you are. And knowing that if  _you_  get killed, it'll be easier for them to get dead too." She drained her glass, but didn't hold it up for a refill. "It's fucking  _terrifying._  I don't like fighting. I like being a battlemage, I like being an artificer, I like being a Planeswaker. But I  _don't like fighting._ " She shook her head. "Sounds stupid. Battlemage who don' like fighting. Hah. Makes no sense."

Zachar studied the woman. Her face was flushed from the alcohol, her bangs were messy from fidgeting with them, and she was staring down at her empty glass. "So...why d'you keep doing it, if you hate fighting so much? Why keep running into something you don't like?"

Maera was quiet for a while. A long while. To Zachar's boozed-up brain, it felt like hours passed before she spoke again. "Because I like seeing people killed a lot less." She said softly. "Most people can't defend against the scare shit that goes bump in the night. Hell, a lot don' even know it's  _there._ " She fidgeted with her glass. "Aaannnnd I used to be one of those people. I used to be one of the ones who needed protecting.

"I don' like fighting. I literally puke after  _evvvvery damn battle._ But damn it to ell, I'm not gonna let the Eldrazi 'r Phyreshians 'r Bolas 'r the Bork or whatever the hell else's out there run wild.

"S'when I started learning to be a battlemage, I did it so I didn't need protecting. I decided t' plant my staff, look the scary shit in th' eye, n' say 'come at me, bitch'. S'why I wet to Zendikar 'n Innistrad 'n Kaladesh...Amonkhet." She looked up at him. "S'why I went after your dumb ass. I protect my friends. Ain't nobody gonna fuck with my friends."

She trailed off, still fidgeting with the glass, rolling it in her hands. Zachar nursed the remains of his drink as they sat in companionable—and drunken—silence. Finally after...well, he was pretty sure it was a while later, he drained his glass and spoke. "Wwwwwow. You're definitely crazy. Or stupid. Probababab...ly both."

Maera snorted, then laughed, then broke out into a snorting laugh. "You sshound like a drunk person!"

"Well that's great, because I  _am_  a durunk person!"

The laughs became guffaws, and Zachar snickered himself out of his chair to join the half-faerie on the ground. He laughed so hard his gut hurt, and his ass hurt, and his head hurt...but he still ended up on the ground, leaning against Maera as the two of them laughed themselves stupid on the deck.

Finally, it died out, and the two of them stayed leaning against each other, mostly for support as Zachar wasn't sure if either of them would stay upright on their own. "Welp. We're both colpe...complerty...compelly...conpa..." Maera shook her head. "We're  _blasted_. Udderly blitzed. Shloshed. Three sheets t' th' wind."

"Drunker n' the deep end of the pool." Zachar added. Maera snickered again.

"I think I've had..." She held up her glass and frowned. "...don' remember how many've had. Pretty sure dat's not a good thing."

"Nah. Its not." Zachar clumsily pulled himself up enough to retrieve the bottle, then  _fwhumped_  back down. "Wanna nother one anyway?"

Maera held up her glass. "Fill 'er up."

Zachar grinned and refilled her glass, then his own. "Cheers."

They clinked glasses. "T' fuckin' up dumbass...whatever-it-ises."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed this little bit of humor with this chapter ^^. As always, reviews and kudos feel good, even if they're not a requirement ^^.


	16. What Comes Around....

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is yet more fluff, and much making fun of Maera's First Hangover~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably getting repetetive by now, but I mean it every time; thank you to all of you who've read this fic so far, even if you haven't left a review or some kudos (yet). And the biggest thanks of all for this one go to my friend GamerDragon13 for beta-ing this chapter. Mostly because I don't want to mangle my portrayal of Dione (whom I've borrowed from her for this fic), and partly because she'll catch things that I've missed.
> 
> Disclaimer: Y'all know the drill, here. If you recognize it, I don't own it. Also, Dione Desidenius (gods I hope I spelled that right) belongs to Gamer. 
> 
> Without further ado.....

**Chapter Sixteen**

**What Comes Around Will Bite You in the Ass**

**Maera**  felt like a corpse.

No, scratch that. She felt  _worse_  than a corpse. She was pretty sure a corpse didn't have a pounding head that felt like it was full of lead shot.

_Somebody shoot me and get it over with. This feels worse than death._

"Well, you look like shit. Do I need to call a priest of Arkay? Or a necromancer?"

Maera groaned, the words renewing her headache with abandon. She gingerly raised her head, squinted, and made out a dunmer-shaped blur. "Dione. Hi. Go away."

"Why?"

"I'm busy pretending I'm dead."

Dione came closer, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I'd say 'good morning' Sunshine, but it's way past morning and you don't look sentient."

"I'm not sentient. Now go away and let me be miserable alone."

Dione, much to Maera's misery, didn't. Instead, she took a seat at the table and propped her chin on her fingers. "How's it feel to have your first hangover?"

"Fuck. Off."

"Taking it well, I see."

Maera moaned again and dropped her head back onto the table. Ow. That hurt. She raised a middle finger in the dunmer's direction. "You are terrible."

"And you still look like shit."

"I'm hungover. Go away."

"Maybe this'll teach you not to get drunk out of your mind and try Planeswalking all over the place."

"Fuck off."

"I've already got a man to do that with, but thanks anyway."

Maera made a sound reminiscent of a Wookiee with the flu. She glared at the dunmer out of the crook of her elbow. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Very much so." Done was holding something up in her hand...something that looked suspiciously like a smartphone. "And you know that  _this_  is going in the scrapbook."

"Is that my phone?"

"Yes."

"Are you taking a picture of me?"

"For posterity's sake, of course."

"You're a fucking heartless asshole."

"I'm archmage of Winterhold College, master of the Thieves' Guild, and friends with Belinda. Heartless asshole comes with the job description."

Maera called her something in German that is unfit for print.

Dione responded with the middle finger.

The door swished open again, and this time Szordree entered. "Ah, it seems our sleeping beauty has returned to the land of the...er...living." Maera turned her glare on him, and he put a hand over his mouth to hide the grin. "Um. Dione, are you sure we don't have a corpse on our hands?"

"As someone who's helped cut up and dispose of a corpse before, I'm sure."

Maera eyed her. "Do I  _want_  to know?"

"Not particularly."

Szordree took a step back. "Note to self; do not piss you off."

"Don't worry; unless you're secretly a Thalmor or named Nathiel, that's not likely." Dione put Maera's phone back down on the table. "Because if you are, keep in mind that I can put an arrow into your ass from five hundred meters away."

" _Really_  don't want to piss you off."

Maera had screwed her eyes shut and was massaging her temple. Her headache was only getting worse, and the two fellow Planeswalkers were  _not_  helping. "Multiverse, why. Why can't I just wallow in my misery alone...?"

Maera didn't need to look at him to know that Szodree's eyebrows had shot up. "Hungover, much?" She spared her hand for a moment to flip him off. Then went back to the massage in a vain attempt at some sort of relief from her alcohol-induced migraine. "I'm going to take that as a yes."

"I'm going to puke on your clothes and make you clean it up if you don't  _shut the fuck up."_

"Y'know, I preferred your mood last night.  _Much_  more entertaining."

Maera's eyes snapped open. Last night...she only partly remembered last night. Some time around the fourth drink or so, her memory got hazy and then...nothing.

Once again she groaned, only this time rather than sounding like a flu-ridden Wookiee she sounded like one with a serious case of constipation.

This was  _not good._

Dione blinked at her. "I think you broke her, Szordree."

"Hey, you were laughing too."

"Yes, but I also wasn't  _encouraging her._ "

Maera let her head fall back to the table. "Gods above...what did I  _do_?"

"If you're wondering if you need to start thinking about a morning-after potion, you don't need to. Not for lack of  _this idiot's_ ," she pinned Szordree with a glower, and the drow shifted uncomfortably, "trying. There wasn't sex involved, thank Azura."

"Though there  _were_  some pretty hilarious attempts at pole dancing." Szordree grinned, rocking back on his heels.

Maera moaned again.

Dione let out a long-suffering sigh and rolled her eyes. She reached into the satchel at her waist and pulled out a glass vial. She set it down in front of Maera. "Here. I think you've suffered enough."

Maera gave her a suspicious look, but picked up the vial and opened it. Right now, she'd be willing to try  _anything_  to alleviate the stabbing pain in her head every time someone spoke. Or she opened her eyes. Or moved. Or thought about...anything. Really, just the acts of breathing and firing neurons was painful, and Maera was fairly certain the inside of her mouth was made of cotton. And despite the electrolyte-vitamin-etcetera powerdrink in front of her, she seemed to have lost the ability to pee.

She gave the vial of liquid a sniff, and very promptly yanked her head away in disgust. " _Yegch!_  It smells like my dad's feet!"

"Just shut up and drink it. I don't look forward to spending the rest of the day in the company of a constipated cow."

Maera blew her a raspberry (like any mature, hungover adult would do) and peered at the potion. "...You're sure this isn't made from my dad's toe jam? Because first, ew. Second, if it is you probably massacred an alien civilization."

"Okay, that's gross." Dione pinched the bridge of her nose. "Just drink the damn potion before  _I_  get sick."

"Just sayin'." Pinching the bridge of her nose, Maera downed the potion in one swallow, spitting and sputtering at the taste. " _Yyyyyyech!_  Tastes like three day old rotten ass!"

"It'll get rid of your hangover. I made sure I restocked  _everything_  before I left Nirn, and I'm glad I did. You're welcome, by the way."

Maera grumbled something insulting into her elbow. Dione let out another long-suffering sigh. "In any case, you're going to need to apologize to Rill for almost poking his eye out with your needle elbows, and give Bels a bit of context for some of the texts you sent."

Her head popped up again. "What."

"You were drunk-texting everyone you knew. And I mean  _everyone._  Belinda, Darren, Lise, Sephervorn, Karr, your mother..."

Maera held up a hand, stopping Dione's list. "Please. Stahp. I may not have much dignity, but I'd like to preserve the shreds I have left."

Dione arched an eyebrow. "That's going to be hard to do, as last night you stomped on, burned, drowned, burned again, crapped on, and buried those shreds in cement before tossing them into the Eternities."

"Can't you just let me live in denial?"

"I could, but then you'd be living a lie. And as a friend, I'm obligated to keep you from deluding yourself."

Maera stuck her tongue out at her. She looked to Szordree. "Back me up here, Szord."

The drow shrugged. "Kinda hard to do, considering that  _is_  what happened." He nodded to the phone, still lying on the table. "Before you consider suicide, I'd take a look at the phone."

"You just want to see the look of horror on my face when I see what I sent people."

"Pretty much, yeah."

Maera groaned and bonked her head on the table. Ow, mistake. The potion  _was_  starting to kick in, but not nearly fast enough to spare her pounding head. Knowing that she'd regret what she was about to look at, she picked her phone up and started flipping through the texts from last night.

There were...a lot.

It was like reading the text equivalent of a train wreck. Maera felt her face turning red, and not out of frustration. No, it was all pure, undiluted embarrassment here.

Deep down, she felt the last microscopic bits of dignity curl up and die a very whiny death.

And the more she scrolled through her text messages, the worse the horror got. It really was like watching a train wreck; it was horrible to witness, yet she couldn't tear her eyes away. The only difference is was that the only thing dying here was her self-respect.

After she was done reading through the humiliation, she put the phone down deliberately, and put her hands—magical construct and flesh-and-blood—together in front of her. She tapped her chin with her index fingers. "Well?" Dione prompted.

Maera took a moment to let her brain finish... _digesting_  what she'd just read. And then file it in the farthest, darkest hole of her hippocampus where she could ignore its existence for the rest of her life. Or until one of her shithead friends brought it up again, whichever came first. She pinned first Dione, then Szordree, with the deadliest glare she could muster. "This," she said, pointing to her phone, "will never be spoken of. Again."

"Of course not." Dione's tone was all innocence. Which meant that the moment Maera let the room, she'd be updating Bels.

Szordree crossed his fingers. "I swear on the honor of House Wyndal." He said, in his best 'you can trust me' voice.

Which, like Dione, was utter bullshit.

Maera gave them both the finger.

Szordree snorted a snicker as Dione hid a smile behind her hand. "The moment I'm off this crazy plane I'm going to track down the others and make them promise under threat of blackmail to  _never_  speak of this to  _anyone._  Or I'll go to every plane they've ever been to and create giant illusions of their darkest, most mortifying secrets in the skies  _for everyone to see._ "

"You say that like it'll work." Dione deadpanned.

"I know it won't work on Bels. But it might on Nissa. Or Jace."  _Definitely on Liliana._  She made a face.  _Ugh...if I track down that bitch I swear to the gods I'm going to rearrange her face. With my foot. And steel-toed boots._

Shaking her head, Maera stood. "I'm gonna go see if Zachar's as miserable as I am." She grumbled, heading for the door.

"Is that code for 'leave me alone you shits'?" Szordree asked.

"That too." Maera shoved past the drow, heading for the bathroom. Her bladder was finally catching up, no small thanks to the hangover-curing potion. Not thinking to knock, she mashed the 'open' button next to the bathroom door.

It opened. To a certain slim vedalken, halfway through pulling on a breast binder.

Maera froze. So did Zachar; he was turning a bright, bright purple. Maera blinked, the scene not quite registering.

After a moment, it did. And her face went red as a beat.  _"Ohmigodimsosorry!"_  She spluttered, doing an about-face and letting the door swish shut. She pressed her hands over her face in a vain attempt to hide the fact that she was redder than Chandra's  _hair_. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry! Why didn't you lock the door?!"

"Because normally you  _knock!"_  Zachar snapped from inside the head. "Like a  _normal person!"_

"I also don't usually have a bladder about to explode!"

" _Too much information!"_

Zachar grumbled something from inside the bathroom before exiting. "All yours," He said, barely before Maera shoved past him and into the head.

She sighed in relief as she, well... _relieved_  herself. Outside the locked door, she heard Zachar whistle. "It sounds like you drank an entire fountain."

"Shut up. It's not like you didn't pee for five straight minutes or something, once your bladder woke up."

"Again I say;  _too much information._ " Silence for several minutes, before he continued. "So, well. You know  _that_  now."

"Um. Yeah." Maera flushed, and was halfway through pulling her pants up when she heard the door beep. She threw the toilet brush at the door, eliciting a squawk out of Zachar.  _"For the love of god!"_

"The hells was  _that_  for?!"

"You're a  _dude!_ " Maera's voice was several octaves higher than it should be. "The fuck were you thinking?!"

"I'm standing out here in my boxers! I was just gonna grab my pants!"

"You can get your pants  _after_  I'm decent!"

There were several bangs against the door, presumably Zachar banging his head against it. He grumbled something in vedalken before letting out an exasperated sigh. "I've  _seen_  all that before. I'm—" another frustrated sound. "I'm _trans,_ for fuck's sake.  _None_  of that...junk is new."

"Still a guy. Still not allowed to see me with my pants down."

Dead silence. Maera reddened again as she realized what she'd just said. Zachar let out a snorting laugh. "You  _really_  don't have a brain-to-mouth filter, do you."

"Fuck you." Maera's face was still burning as she washed her hands. "My dignity's dead enough as it is. Let me salvage some scrap of it."

Zachar snorted a laugh. "Good luck with that. After last night, I'm pretty sure you don't have any dignity  _left._ "

"Oh shut up. You were just as hammered as I was."

"Don't remind me. Nice pole dancing, though."

" _Fuck you!"_

Maera opened the door and threw Zachar's pants at him, catching the vedalken full in the face. A pair of voices whistled as she exited.  _"Woo-wee._  Who would've thought you two had the hots for each other~" X'vir sang.

Tone clapped their hands. "Congratulations, Zachar! You finally found a girlfriend, we can finally delete that dating profile."

Zachar's eye twitched. Maera's mouth hung open for a moment before speaking. "You. You are a couple of assholes."

X'vir beamed. "The best friends are."

"I prefer the term 'sarcastically supportive'." That was Tone.

Zachar looked to Maera as he pulled his pants on. "You want to throw something at them first, or should I?"

Maera was about to answer when the ship shook. She braced herself on the wall as the intercom crackled to life.  _"Guys, we might have a problem."_  Nasala said.

Zachar reached past Maera and tapped a control. "What's wrong?"

" _Munda's getting some alarming readings from the engineers. The convoy's dropping out of FTL to be safe; the aether stream's unstable."_

Maera frowned. "That doesn't sound right. This is a major spaceway, isn't it?"

" _Yep. Or, it's supposed to be; hence the weird readings. It looks like something's redirecting the aether and changing the path of the leyline itself."_

Maera saw Zachar's eyes widen. She had a pretty good idea what going through his head, because she was thinking the same thing; that wasn't  _possible_. Or if it was, it shouldn't be  _easy._  The dead silence from the others told her that Tone and X'vir were thinking as well. "That was an emergency dropout."

" _Yeah. Mun figured it'd be safer to drop now and figure out what was going on at sublight rather than get spat out of the stream later. Rather play it safe than get sprayed all over the sector."_

Zachar hummed, face darkening. Maera's mouth went into a thin line; getting yanked out of FTL by Captain Fashionably Challenged and Company was what had caused the damage to  _Sleipnir_  in the first place. Being stuck on sublight power, it'd have taken another week or more to get to Saiyani without the lift from Ganneth and his buddies. She didn't want to think about what that wold do to what was effectively a spacefaring  _city-state_.

She chewed her lip. "What d'you think could redirect the leylines?"

" _Something really powerful and probably dangerous._ " Nasala paused.  _"Zach? You got any ideas?"_

"A few. And I don't like them. Doubt your cousin will, either."

" _Which means the rest of the clan heads won't like it, either. I'll make note not to tell Munda, then."_  A beat.  _"Or tell him the non-Planeswalkery part, and then tell him not to tell the rest of the heads."_

"If he did, they'd think he lost his mind."

" _Sometimes, I wonder if you've lost yours."_

"Thanks for the ringing endorsement." Zachar grumbled. "I'll be up there one I get something caffeinated. See you in a minute."

" _Just no booze this time. I think you traumatized Ganneth last night."_  Nasala teased. Maera muffled a gigglesnort; looks like she wasn't the  _only_  one whose dignity took a one-way trip down the toilet. Zachar shot her a glower.

"Shut up. Both of you." The vedalken groused, shoving his hands in his pockets and heading for the mess. X'vir started making smooching sounds at his retreating back, to which Zachar threw a,  _"You too, X'vir!"_  over his shoulder.

_I wonder if I should warn him about Dione and Szord,_  Maera thought, before shaking her head.  _Eh, he'll find out. And it won't deter those two's teasing._

Maera beat Zachar to the cockpit, where Ganneth, Nasala and Rill were already gathered. Three people made it crowded enough, and the addition of the half-faerie just made it even more cramped.  _There is no way everyone's gonna fit in here._  She thought. As Zachar entered, followed by Szordree and Dione, she cringed.  _Ugh. Sardineville._

"Well, this is...cozy." Szordree said, finding a spot on the wall to lean against.

"Cozy's one word." Zachar grumbled, squeezing his way to an empty seat and tapping on the console, coffee in hand. "What's so interesting about the cockpit today, anyway?"

"Apart from coming out of FTL and Nasala's cousin having a minor panic attack?" Ganneth piped up.

Nasala punched him in the arm. "Mun wasn't having a panic attack. It was a 'better safe than sorry' moment." She said. "And, well...look outside."

Maera did, and her jaw dropped. "What in Oblivion...?" She heard Dione gasp behind her, and she felt the same way.

The aether stream, which  _had_  been flowing strong, was rapidly disintegrating. She could  _see_  streams of mana breaking away and floating off, as f something was turning off the faucet. "That is  _not_  natural."

" _It isn't." Sleipnir_  said.  _"And I'm pretty sure that if it keeps up, it'll become nearly impossible to use FTL. At least, not with the drives we have now."_

"Which means we've got to find the source of the problem and fix it." Zachar said, tapping something into his console as he slid into the seat next to Nasala. " _Sleipnir_ , do you think we'll be able to get to FTL in this highway?"

Nasala gaped at him. "You're kidding, right?" She asked. "It's unstable, Zach."

"For large convoys, yeah. But  _Sleipnir_ 's a lot smaller than the  _Dawnbreaker_  and its group." Zachar pointed out. "We  _might_  be able to ride it for a while, figure out where the streams are being directed  _to_..."

" _I'm going to head you off and advise against that, Urin."_  The screen flickered, and the image of a kor man who looked to be in his forties appeared in the bottom-left quadrant.  _"According to my engineers, the aether stream's losing integrity, fast. You might be able to get Sleipnir to FTL, but it wouldn't be for long and it'd be uncomfortable when you return to sublight."_

Zachar's mouth went into a thin line. Maera knew that look; it was the one he got when he was hell-bent on doing something and was faced with a roadblock.  _'Sounds like someone else, doesn't it?'_  Taibhse's mental voice piped up.

_Oh shut up. I'm not that bad._

_'Yes you are'._

_No I'm not._

_'D'you want me to point out how much like a first-grader you sound, or can you figure that out on your own?'_  Maera wasn't sure what annoyed her more; the snarky tone, or the fact that he was kinda right.

_Oh shaddup, willya?_

She swore she heard Taibhse snicker, but he obliged and quieted and as Zachar and Nasala's cousin had their conversation. She tuned it out, and focused on sensing the plane's mana.

She closed her eyes, and envisioned it as a network in her mind. The presences of her companions shone blue, red, white, black...Maera tuned them out too, easily enough. The aether stream that they'd been riding was shifting between all five colors of mana, churning and thrashing in the empty space...

...and sputtering. Nasala's cousin, Munda, was right; the stream was unstable. Maera followed it with her magical senses, and found the the streams it intersected with were losing stability as well. As the picture came together in her head, she saw something that made the bottom drop out of her stomach.

Not only was something redirecting the plane's leylines, it was focusing them at  _one point_. With the streams as tangled up as they were, she didn't even try to trace where that central point was. All she knew was that this redirection was indeed artificial, and it was putting a strain on the plane's leylines.

And, by extension, on the plane itself.

Worry coiled in the half-faerie's gut. Etrides wasn't her plane, but it had people she'd come to care about on it. And Maera  _really_ wanted to be able to come back here and have a proper nerd-out when things were less...bad.

That aside, it left the question if what was being done to Etrides was also affecting the Blind Eternities as well. If it was, it could have repercussions throughout the  _rest_  of the Multiverse...

_I don't know what's gonna happen, but there's no way it's good. It's going to be one big shitstorm._

_And something tells me that one way or another, I'm going to be smack in the middle of it. Again._  Maera pinched the bridge of her nose.  _Just once, I'd like things to be simple. Just once._

Someone nudged her, and she cracked an eye open. Dione was giving her a strange look. "Are you all right?"

Maera grunted. "He's right about the leyline." She said, drawing the attention of everyone in the small room. "It's not just unstable, it's being rerouted and its power drained for...something. Don't know what. And it's happening to other leylines, too."

The dunmer's eyes widened. "How'd you...wait, nevermind. Explain that later. You said the  _leylines_  were being  _redirected._ "

"And drained."

" _I hope you're wrong."_  Maera looked to the viewscreen as the kor continued.  _"If something's draining the leylines...it's not just spaceships that are screwed. Nearly all magitech will eventually lose power, the same for anything and anyone that relies on mana for power."_

"The next question is, what could cause that sort of power drain in the first place," Nasala said, fiddling with an earring. "Though if it  _can_ , I'm not sure if I want to know..."

Munda let out a breath and rubbed one of his temples.  _"I'll send a message through the 'net, tell other convoys to get the word out; the leylines are losing power. If people are riding them as they go out—"_

The group never got to hear him finish the thought. The feed went to static, before a new image appeared on the screen. And it wasn't Nasala's cousin Munda.

The face on the screen was partly obscured by a deep hood, with some sort of breathing apparatus covering the bottom half of the being's face.  _"Greetings, my Messiah. I wish I could have introduced myself sooner, but you have done quite a good job of hiding yourself. It only confirms that the spark I sensed a month ago was indeed you."_

"What the fuck?" Nasala sat up straighter in her chair. "Zach, you have any idea what's going on?"

"He's hacked all the frequencies," the vedalken in question grumbled. "Damn it...I'd  _love_  to know what encryption he's using, because I'm having trouble with it."

" _You are descended from him."_  The man continued, either not hearing the conversation or choosing to ignore it.  _"Allandir MacNielle, your ancestor...and the man who stole my godhood."_  He paused, seeming to redirect his attention to Rill.  _"As you would know, Rill of the Zendikari Kor."_

Maera glanced away from the screen momentarily, and the tightening around Rill's eyes was not lost on her. "Ha ha, real funny. You're really good a being dramatic, so you gonna say anything other than shit I already know?"  _What's this jackass know about Rill and Allandir?_

" _You came here bloodied and powerless. It seems you've rectified that; good."_  He apparently had no intention of answering Maera's questions. Or it was pre-recorded.  _"I did not foresee your...tenacity. Only your face, and your sword...and his staff, of course."_

"You still haven't answered my question. Mind telling us who the hell you are and why you're being Mr. Annoyingly Dramatic?"

" _I?"_  The figure raised his head just slightly, enough to peer out from under his hood—with bloodshot yellow eyes. Maera felt a shiver run down her spine.  _"I am an old friend. Or rival, if you prefer. You don't know me, but your blood will."_

"Speak Common, for Ran's sake." Ganneth growled. "What're you getting at?"

" _I believe I was addressing my Messiah, Miss Hellion."_  Maera tensed; he knew her name. How, she had no idea—but he did.  _"I am giving you a chance to join me, and lead Etrides to its glorious destiny—reuniting with the beautiful eternity just beyond our reality. Join me willingly, and be rewarded."_

_Well. That fits with what Zachar told me about that Bleeder cult. This guy must be the leader._  Maera thought, squeezing her biceps. "And if I decide y'all are on some kind of space meth and fuck out?"

He was silent for several moments before replying.  _"It would be regrettable. If you are his blood, you will know where to come."_

The screen blanked out again before returning to the image of Nasala's peeved-off cousin.  _"What in the hells was that?!"_ He demanded.  _"Who was he and how did he override all of our comm bands?!"_

"Hell if I know." Zachar ran a hand through his hair. "You heard it too?"

" _I wouldn't be surprised if that was broadcast through the entire sector."_  Munda replied, his barbels twitching in frustration.  _"Nasala, what have you kids managed to get into this time?"_

The young kor woman exchanged a glance with Zachar. "We're still figuring it out." She said, rubbing the back of her neck. "Buuut I'm starting to think either he or someone he's working with wants something from...one of us."

Maera didn't point herself out as the one Nasala was talking about. She just chewed the inside of her cheek, arms crossed.  _He knew Allandir, if he knew about his staff._  She thought, as the others talked.  _And he knows that he passed it on to me, but how? I didn't see anyone who looked like that guy around when Allandir pulled me aside and gave it to me..._

The small screen disappeared as Zachar, Nasala and Munda finished speaking. "Well." Nasala leaned back in her chair. "That was creepy, if you don't mind me pointing out the obvious."

Ganneth snorted. "Understatement," he said. The minotaur eyed Zachar. "You're thinking something. If it's stupid, don't."

Zachar shot him a glare. "You don't know I'm planning anything."

"Just gonna head ya off, no dumb shit. We already done that with runnin' inta the Inquisitorium. That loon sounded like a Bleeder, and I don' wanna deal with any cultist wackos."

Maera eyed Rill, who looked like he'd just seen a ghost. Or woken up from a nightmare. "I'm thinking it has a bit  _more_  to do with than cultist wackos..." She mused.

"Don't tell me he's another Planeswalker," Dione's voice was deadpan. Maera swore she saw the dunmer woman's eye twitch.

"If he's not, I'll eat Eldrazi guts." Rill grumbled, sounding like he'd rather eat a block of lead. He addressed the room at large, but he was looking at Maera. "And I  _really_ hope that wasn't who I  _think_  he is."

"And that is?" Szordree piped up.

A muscle worked in the kor's jaw and something shifted behind his eyes that made Maera squirm. Nasala must have picked up on it too, because she rose and said, "Ganneth, let's get something to eat. I get the feeling that what's about to go down is going to make one of our brains melt."

"Oy, my brain ain't meltin'. 'Sides, I wanna see if this grumpy dude's gonna blow a gasket."

"Ganneth. Lunch. C'mon, before I grab you by the—"

" _Awright, I'm comin'!"_  The minotaur almost ran the kor over as the two left the cockpit, and Maera promptly took one of the two newly-vacated seats.

"So, I'm assuming that this nut is connected to you, somehow." Zachar said as she sat down. "Any idea how?"

"No, but I'd bet at least one of us in this room does." She couldn't feel Rill's eyes on her, but he could feel the writhing of his presence, betraying the kor's discomfort. She looked to him. "What's wrong? You know him?"

Rill grunted. "He had a different body, back then." His lower deepened, the grip on his upper arm tightening. "His name is Drusus Catius. He is— _was—_ a Planeswalker from Nirn. He Sparked before the Mending. Long before."

Maera resisted the urge to smack her head into the console in front of her. Instead, she pushed her glasses up her forehead and rubbed her eyes. "Of  _course_. Of course the big problem is caused by some pre-Mending looney trying to get his old power back. Now, who does that sound like..."

Rill grunted, and Maera heard him shift. She peered at him in time to see his expression sour. "'Looney' is putting it mildly. You know the expression a lot of us old 'walkers use, 'we were gods once'?"

"Yeah. Bolas might've mentioned it on Amonkhet, right before he kicked our collective asses."

"It's true. But some...some took it too far. Some, like Catius, became convinced that they really  _were_  gods." Rill ran a hand through his hair. "Most old 'walkers who were worshipped as gods by the planesbound were well aware that they were  _not_  gods. They never bothered convincing their followers otherwise; it stroked their egos. And, often, kept people from trying to kill them."

"That's impossible." Dione said from where she was leaning against the bulkhead. "Gods are beings created from the collected faith of their followers. If they don't have worshippers, they cease to exist. Gods can't have Sparks."

"You know that, I know that—everyone in this room knows that." Rill leaned back in his seat, chair creaking. "But that man, calling Maera 'Messiah', doesn't. His mind broke when his Spark ignited, and he's convinced he's a deity. Believe me, I've tried correcting him...as have Dane, Karr, Sorin...and Allandir."

Now it was Maera's turn to cross her arms. "Great. An insane oldwalker who thinks he's a god. Now why doesn't that sound very comforting?"

"It shouldn't." Rill blew out a breath through his nose. "I suspect the reason he's been redirecting his plane's leylines is an attempt to re-ignite his Spark. Get an entire plane's worth of mana flowing through you, and either your Spark will ignite or  _you_  will."

"He has to be using a device to do so." Maera jumped; Zachar hadn't spoken for so long that she'd forgotten he was there. "I don't know any spell that can reroute entire leylines, not to this extent."

Rill made a sound deep in his throat. "Probably. But any artifact wouldn't last very long. His eyes slid from the viewscreen back to Maera. "It's likely why he wants his hands on  _you_. You've got abilities that weren't even seen  _before_  the Mending. You're what's called a Living Aritfac; you can change the color of mana to whatever you need, without the use of a device—and even act as a conduit for that mana. Even before the Mending, those abilities were theoretical; many archmages didn't think that your ability set could exist"

"'The impossible has a charm that the merely improbable lacks'," Maera quoted. She knew about her being a Living Artifact; more than once she'd used it to screw with someone she was fighting, often to hilarious results. "I like fucking with people."

"Yeah, I noticed." The kor groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Be serious for once. This man needs something—some _one_ , in this case—who can handle the immense amount of power he'd be channeling. Most artifacts and people would break under the strain."

"What makes you certain  _I_  wouldn't?"

"I'm not." Rill said. "But you're the most powerful Planeswalker since the Mending. You've upended a  _lot_  of assumptions about what mages can do by being a Living Artifact. The amount of raw power you can wield is immense, even by pre-Mending standards. If you'd been born a few decades earlier, you could have easily outmatched Bolas or Urza in power."

Maera chewed the inside of her cheek. He wasn't  _wrong_  about the amount of power she could throw around. And it hadn't been the first time she'd been called the 'most powerful Planeswalker since the Mending'. Whatever that meant. She rubbed her eyes again, the headache from earlier making a return. Pre- or Post-Mending, Planeswalkers were still the most powerful mages around. She'd seen what they could do in both eras, and she'd seen firsthand what happened when a Planeswalker went  _wrong._

And recently, she'd found out what happened when an oldwalker decided to get serious. She'd lost an arm and while she'd managed to mostly untangle her mana lines, there were still snarls to work out.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, and started. She looked up; it was Szordree. "Your hair's glowing, and it's starting to snow. Whatever you're thinking, it might be better to let us know than bottle it up, yeah? Punching holes in wall isn't advisable in space."

Maera couldn't stop the laugh snorting its way out. "I'm pretty sure duranium is harder than my fist." She said, shrugging the drow's hand away. "Ye gods, sometimes I wish I didn't have such a hard-on to protect people. It'd be a  _lot_  easier to just nope out and hang out on Ravnica. And by 'hang out' I mean 'hide from Belinda till she cools down from being homicidal'."

"If you didn't have that hard-on, you wouldn't have joined the Gatewatch in the first place and ended up in this mess." Dione pointed out, sounding way too cheerful. Without opening her eyes, Maera shot a middle finger in the direction of the dunmer's voice. She got a snort in return.

"My question is, how do you know him?" Zachar asked, and Maera cracked an eye. "And who's this Allandir he was talking about? How'd he know about Maera?"

Rill blew out a breath, running his hand through his hair. Again. "That's...a long story. One where I'm not sure where to start."

"Maybe the beginning?"

Rill gruned at Maera's suggestion, crossing his arms. "Like I said; long story. It'd take a while to go through the whole thing."

"We can make time." That was Szordree.

"If we're going to be running into this guy's headquarters at some point, I'd rather know what we're dealing with rather than go in blind." Added Dione.

"And whatever happened way back who-knows-when, it's involving  _my plane_  now." Maera head a double  _thump_  as Zachar propped his feet up on the console. "If someone's trying to blow up my home, I want to know."

Another sigh from Rill. "All right. Get yourselves some coffee, you're going to need it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wheee, more exposition coming up! Hope this little comical breather into Maera's first hangover wasn't too out of place with things, but let's be honest; everyone experiences at least one really bad hangover in their life, best just get it over with right away, right?
> 
> In any case, next chapter we'll see a little bit more history of this Drasus Catius character, and how he intersects with Maera's bloodline....
> 
> Keep reading, y'all!

**Author's Note:**

> Not even a week off Amonkhet and already in trouble...great going Maera, your luck apparently blows today ^^. 
> 
> One last quick note on timeline things: Birthright takes place RIGHT after the Hour of Devestation, and overlaps almost entirely with Ixalan. So while Maera is hanging out and recovering from her lost arm, Jace is currently running around on Useless Island and wonder who tf he is. 
> 
> Anyway. Now y'all know when the events of this fic fall in the Magic timeline. Yay, I think?
> 
> To quote a favorite fanfic author of mine; reviews desired, but not required. Feels nice to read 'em though ^^


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